The Son of A Woodworker
by RobinsGirlWonder
Summary: As season 2 takes flight, August has been separated from Emma, left to his own demons, and Emma is simply just trying to get home. A series of "behind-the-scenes" looks, with chapters for each episode. The first chapters in this series are already posted One-Shots Blink, Embers and Shelter. Will veer off of season 2 continuity after episode 2x18
1. Built That Way

**Title: **The Son of a Woodworker  
**Chapter Title: **Built That Way  
**Characters: **August W. Booth & Emma Swan  
**Summary: **As season 2 takes flight, August has been separated from Emma, left to his own demons, and Emma is simply just trying to get home. A series of "behind-the-scenes" looks, with chapters for each episode. The first chapters in this series are already posted One-Shots Blink, Embers and Shelter.  
**Warnings: **T for language and content to be safe, also... bring Kleenex. There's a lot of August whump I sense coming this season. Themes being regret and redemption, so I expect August!Whump.

**Author's Note**: So, to no one's surprise, after Tallahassee, this has actually inspired me to write more, mainly because I'm really not sure if Adam and Eddy and I are talking anymore, or if I need to stalk them to make sure they don't get rid of August. For my full and complete views on Tallahassee and the treatment of August, please see my tumblr, which I think most of you already follow me on. What this episode revealed about August's character is highly risky on the part of the writers. It actually inspired the chapter title. But, while risky, it's also beautifully in character and I think just makes him actually MORE sympathetic if you look at the fact that that was 10 years ago. And then look at August at the end of season one. TOTALLY different guy. With the same... lack of willpower OH BB. The theme of season two is regret and redemption, and I am so on course with that. Anyway, from now on, the one shots will all be here. **NEW READERS: **IF you're just finding this, awesome! Thank you for enjoying my fic! That being said, this is actually where the rest of a series will be going. The first three chapters are Blink, Embers and Shelter, but since I'd already posted them as one-shots, I didn't want to tick of by double-posting them in here. Please be sure to read those first, then come back here for season 2 Wooden Swan goodness.  
**2nd Author's Note**: This one is going to hit you RIGHT in the Geppetto family feels, and RIGHT in the Built that Way Feels. That is what I am now calling August making chronically bad decisions.

* * *

How is he supposed to be honest to the woman he identifies as, well, his mother... when the truth would hurt so deeply?

August has never had a mother. He doesn't understand what it would be like to have one emotionally, but, he supposes that the technical aspect makes sense. If he looks at the technical sense, then... his mother is the Blue Fairy. She gave him life. And he knows of no greater _good _power than the blue fairy. Regardless of what he's found in this world, he has never and probably will never meet a power as great as the pure power of fairies, which comes from a place of love for the greater good. He knows if he can just be brave, tell the Blue Fairy... there's magic in Storybrooke, she can bring Emma and Snow White home.

Of course, that's what makes this all the more terrifying. She had been the first to tell his father he couldn't send August through the wardrobe, and his father had done it anyway. His father's last words still echo in his mind as August slips in through the side entrance of the convent at dusk.

_But, you told me to be honest, father. You told me not to lie._

_Sometimes, you lie to protect the people you love. You must look out for the child. _

_It is the only way we'll see each other again._

August's hand goes to his wooden features, covering his eyes as he tries to shake away the thoughts of just how deeply he's failed his father. The convent is dark and quiet. He hasn't seen any of the fairies since he's arrived, and frankly, he doesn't even know if they're still here. If there is magic, they might have moved on, found a new place to dwell.

All the questions and concerns running through August's head just make it impossible to concentrate. Part of him wants to turn around, go back to the stables and talk to Henry, but he's already ruled that out. He _has_ to get Emma back. For Henry.

_It's why you sent the postcard, too_. A small voice reminds him. He'd been in such a state at the time, when he'd blown past the post office to pick up the postcard on his way out of town, August hadn't really been sure what he'd done. Had he sent the postcard? He's still trying to figure out how he found that bird…

There'd been a very selfish part of him, a part of him he knows just all too well, that told him not to send it. Neal doesn't deserve Emma. _No one deserves her. Especially not me. But she deserves a happy ending. If he's it…_

August isn't sure why his mind keeps drifting back over a decade while he sticks close to the shadows, looking for the Mother Superior's office. After years of getting caught up in just trying to make ends meet, when August thought he was ready, he'd gone to find her. Why he thought at 15 she would have been ready for what he had to say, August couldn't possibly recall now. He knows _now_ that given the fervent denial she had of everything she'd seen, things would have been no different whether she was 15 or 17 or 21 or 25. Emma's stubborn. She had needed something threatened that mattered far more than any boyfriend or screwed up failed guardian angel.

Some angel. He's doing an awesome job. What kind of angel disappears like he does, gets caught up in every stupid vice that comes along? Who the hell did he even think he was, calling himself that? _Well, you know what they say. The road to hell is paved with good intentions._

Wow. That's August in a nutshell. Every time he tries to do the right thing, something will come along to distract him. _You realize this is why you needed a cricket as your freakin' conscience, right?_

August is so distracted he misses the sound of approaching footsteps behind him until they're right there.

"Can I help you?" _It's her._

August swallows, and suddenly every part of his body wants to shake and shiver until there's nothing left. He'd thought explaining things to his father would be different enough, but... this is the Blue Fairy. She'd given him three _impossible_ words to live up to. And in this world with pleasures unlike anything the world has ever seen, it is _so_ easy to lose track of time. And August knows he's fundamentally built that way. Easy to lose track of time. Easy to distract. _You're not anyone's Protector, regardless of how you try to claim that title now_.

"Is... Mister Booth, is that you?" So, she still remembers the identity he's provided her all this time. Maybe there's a chance. She hasn't called him - "Pinocchio..." _Oh._

August swallows again, but it's harder than it was before. So, instead he tries to collect his thoughts, as scattered as they are. He has been telling himself ever since he left the stables that he is willing to do whatever it takes to save Emma and Snow, to bring their family back together. He knows there's a part of him wanting it because he's selfish. He wants to see his father again and he can't do it until he's... better. But that's not really why he wants it. He doesn't want Henry to have to grow up without his mother. Not after he's found her.

"Pinocchio, please look at me?" She doesn't sound angry. She sounds... worried? Comforting?

August lets out a breathless, mirthless chuckle. "I'm not so sure that's the best idea." He mutters, and his control is already starting to break. He doesn't have the anonymity he's been able to use to his advantage for the last year. He doesn't have the ability to just say he wants to be an apprentice.

"Please?" It's so quiet, it's just that one word. August doesn't know how to say no to it. He's never been taught. He was never built to have a mother; he doesn't know what that pull on his heart really means.

If August is crying, he doesn't know. He hasn't been wooden in so long that it's like rediscovering his body all over again. He knows he feels like it. The shame, the weight of everything he's done is threatening to swallow him.

Yet, his feet move, and he slowly pivots to face her. His face, he's sure, is covered in darkness as the last of the twilight fades in the windows of the hallway.

But, that doesn't faze her. Even in the conservative, oh-so-different garb she's worn for 28 years, it still looks just like her. Those eyes, that smile. It's the Blue Fairy. And he's just the stupid boy who took her gift and completely squandered it. "Look at you..." She takes a step closer, and August turns his head, trying to keep it together.

"Yeah, that's the problem." He says in a rush of air, chuckling a little. "As you can tell, I might've, um... might've failed your last exam there."

The disappointment is evident in her voice the moment she speaks, and August can feel his heart shredding. And she's not even his father. He can't imagine how this would be with his father. "This world has many temptations, and you gave in, but, I'm sure you tried, Pinocchio – "

"Please, don't." August's voice is tight, controlled. He's trying so hard to stay in one piece, to remind himself why he's _really_ here. "I'm not that boy anymore." _I'm worse._

"No, that's the point. You _are_." Even though August tries to move away again, it's too late, and she has his hand in her grasp, pulling the sleeve of his jacket up enough that she can see the polished wood. "I'm so sorry that Geppetto sent you here. You were never meant to carry that burden. No one could have expected that you..." She trails off, but it's obvious what she wants to say. No one can expect the pathological _jackass_ to succeed at protecting _The Savior. _

"You don't understand. I didn't... I could've tried harder."

"But, you _tried, _that's part of being human." Right. He tried. He screws up her life once or twice to scare her straight. And then he loses track of time. "You left her when you were a little boy, no one could fault you."

A little boy. Right.

_August slips the cash into his jacket pocket, then turns back to Neal. "I'll send you a postcard." _

_Even though Neal is satisfied with the answer, August isn't sure he plans to keep that promise or not. What does he care? This guy's been leading Emma down a path of nothing but thievery and conning. Not exactly befitting of the Savior. _

_Even as Neal leaves the car, and August drives it back down to Portland, where he can leave it in the storage unit he's been given, August knows that Emma doesn't need the ill-gotten gains from the theft of the watches. He's not perfect. Hell, he doesn't even __**know**__ Emma, but he does know that she has a very set path in life, and being in lust with some thief would mean everyone who's been cursed will stay that way forever. His father. __**Her parents.**_

_August feels remorse for the way he's handled it even as he drops the car off and checks his phone. If he tries to get close to her after prison, maybe it'll work out. But, honestly? August doesn't know how he's supposed to talk to her._

_His bookie is calling. August has been avoiding him for two years now, ever since he's gotten his act together to find Emma. He still owes 20 grand on his gambling debts from his decidedly more wayward youth._

_Neal gave him 20 grand. And Emma shouldn't have the money in the first place. _

_And six months later, in some bar in Phuket, stinking of booze and suntan lotion, August is sandwiched between two nameless, curvaceous girls while he plays a hand of poker. His bookie needs interest. It's 40 grand now, not 20. _

_If he can just win this hand, he'll win it all back. And by now, what, Emma should be out of jail. He'll go touch base with her, try to prepare her for… hang on, is that a Jack of Diamonds? He needs that._

_If he can just win this hand, he'll win it all back._

_But… of course, he never does._

"My father gave me a job to do, and I screwed it up." August's voice is raw and scratchy as he speaks, but he's not sure if it's from anger, sadness, or fear. "I'm sorry. I was supposed to be there for her. I get that now."

The Blue Fairy smiles again, but it fades when August wrenches his arm free. He doesn't want to be touched. Or coddled. Or comforted. Their forgiveness means nothing to him if he can't redeem himself for Emma. It's not their lives he screwed up, it's _hers._

_Goddammit, _why can't he stop _thinking_ about _Phuket?_

"Look, I'm not here about me, okay?" That sounds bizarre coming out of his mouth, because he knows it's not a normal thing for him to say. Well, to say it and _mean it_. "I'm alive, that means there's magic. Here. In Storybrooke."

"Pinocchio – "

"_August_. "

"August." The Blue Fairy holds her hands up to stop him before he goes on a tear. "Yes, there _is_ magic in Storybrooke – "

"Then get Emma and Snow White back here. You can do it, I know you can. The fairies have the most powerful magic our world has seen." August doesn't realize how fervently he's pleading until he grabs her hands, pulling them close. "Look, I'm _me._ I have a body, I'm alive, I should be dead. If _that_ can happen, then getting them back from wherever they've been sent should be easy."

There's silence as August waits, like the hopeful, terrified, messed up boy he really is deep down.

The hope fades from his features as the Blue Fairy simply shakes her head. "It's not, August. I am _so_ sorry."

At first, he doesn't believe what he hears. He's living, breathing proof of magic in this world. "What?"

"While Emma and Snow White may be in the Enchanted Forest, we have no way of getting them back." The Fairy's words are measured, the tone reminds him all too well of the line she sold Snow and Charming when he was a boy, about how the wardrobe could handle only one. Is she lying to him? "We Fairies still don't have fairy dust. Our magic comes from fairy dust and our wands. Without one or the other, we cannot return either of them."

August blinks, and then takes a step back. He needs to think, needs to breathe. "Unbelievable…" No fairy magic. He never even considered it, and now? He doesn't have a plan. This can't be the only option. He has to fix this. "So, then _how_ am I alive? I should be wooden. If you knew the things I'd done – "

"Rumplestiltskin brought magic to this world," The Fairy waves his comment off. Like a mother would, but he just doesn't know to respond to that. "But it's unpredictable. It doesn't work the way it should."

"Rumplestiltskin." August breathes. The gravity of the situation settles over him. He's going to have to go to him. Just like that, August is thinking like his old self. If he has to go to the bad guy, fine, sure, as long as it saves Emma, gets her back here. "That's it." August starts to walk past her, and the Blue Fairy follows him. He can hear her quick steps behind him.

"Wait, Pinocchio, _don't!_ You don't know what he'd ask of you, you don't even know if he wants to do it. Or if he _can._"

August sighs, turning to look at the Blue Fairy, putting his hands on her shoulders, ignoring their wooden creak as his wrists move. "I took advantage of him once. I owe him. If he can do this for me, I'll pay whatever price he asks."

"Don't, August. You are not prepared for that."

August smiles a little, swallowing and pulling away. She doesn't understand. How could she? She's never really been human. She's never had to live with the things he has. "Believe me, the price would be worth it. Just promise me. If you see my father, you _never_ saw me." August begins to backpedal, still facing the Fairy, giving her a firm point.

"_You never saw me."_

Those good intentions might very well lead him to hell. But, at least he can make Emma happy. He tries not to think about how much losing her could hurt, tries not to think about how much time he wasted without ever truly realizing how important she would be to him.

He made this bed. He has to lay in it.

He's just built that way.


	2. Intrinsic

**Setting: **Set during 2x07

**Author's Note: **Thank you for all the awesome follows and reviews for the last chapter! I did hit you all in the feels, I'm so sorry. But, at the same time, do you feel better now? :D I gave everyone some catharsis after Tallahassee raked that poor BB August over the coals. So, next chapter! This time, tackling something I am very excited to see the show handle over time.

**2nd Author's Note: **Also, there is a reason this didn't get posted until today. First, my freaking monitor on my computer died. Secondly: Gus Gus. *BAWLS HYSTERICALLY* In one breath they gave me hope, and then they took it away! SCREW YOU, ADAM AND EDDY.

* * *

She made this bed. She has to lay in it.

Ten hours. Emma gave Hook ten hours, and if he knows what's good for him, he won't try to follow them. But, Emma is pretty sure tying him up will guarantee he comes after them.

"Bad form," right? That's what he would say. Oh, well. Emma's made enemies before. At least her skin isn't crawling anymore.

"If we keep heading West, there is a clearing we can make camp at long enough to get some sleep in." Emma wants to keep moving, but as light has faded, she knows arguing with Snow is definitely going to require more energy than she has. And some serious toothpaste. She's pretty sure her mouth still tastes like giant hand.

Emma stays silent as they travel West, and as the twilight finally fades, they've made camp, a fire crackling as the darkness threatens to swallow all of them.

"You should get some sleep." Mulan's voice as she speaks quietly to Aurora catches Emma's attention as she throws a blanket down for herself. Emma's trying not to watch, but it can be difficult not to. There's something between the two of them that Emma can't quite identify. It's not the way Aurora reacts, though, it's in the way Mulan acts. Distant, but at the same time, concerned. Involved.

Emma finds herself reminded of August. The fact he'd helped her prove Regina framed Mary Margaret and...

Emma clears her throat, pushing the emotional response away. She's good at keeping things locked in, no reason to change now.

The camp is set. Mulan settles beside Aurora, as if waiting for the next threat, while Snow builds the fire. Emma feels useless. What else is new?

Sighing, she gets up and looks around aimlessly. "I'm gonna take a walk."

Snow looks up at her, and Emma immediately realizes there isn't exactly going to be an opportunity for peace and quiet. "Hook could be coming. You shouldn't be alone."

Emma opens her mouth, but she knows her expression is as lost as she feels. She really wants to just be alone, she's trying very hard to just process everything that's happened the last few days.

"I will walk with you." Mulan's voice isn't the one Emma's expecting. She glances up at the warrior woman as she leaves the solace of the campfire, walking towards her. "No one should have to be alone. Not in this darkness."

Something about the way she says that sends a chill down Emma's spine, and she simply nods, unaware that her face has fallen considerably. Maybe she's needed the silence and alone time more than she realizes.

Snow doesn't push it. She takes a seat beside Aurora near the fire, and Emma nods.

It's much easier to walk away from Snow this time, but that might be because Mulan is right behind her, a quiet force of nature while they walk.

Emma doesn't really keep track of her footsteps, but she does recognize when the campfire is no longer crackling in the back of her mind, and she glances back at Mulan. "You didn't actually have to follow me, you know."

The warrior has fascinated Emma ever since she got here, but this is the first time she's really talked with her. Alone. "I know. But, Aurora looks up to Snow White, and if she believes we should stay together, I will respect that." Mulan's hand has never left the hilt of her sword, a move that should freak Emma out, but it doesn't. Then again. She killed a dragon a few weeks ago. Life is all sorts of weird right now.

"What's the deal with you and Aurora anyway?" Emma's candor even catches her off-guard, and she tries to follow it up with a smirk, crossing her arms across her chest. "I mean… you just… you look after her. And I know you were friends with that guy – "

"I cared a great deal for Philip." Mulan cuts Emma off with a tongue as sharp as her sword, and Emma's eyebrows rise in surprise. Mulan apparently notices this and Emma sees a new expression, a softer one, flicker across her features. "I don't know that you would understand."

"Try me." May as well. Who else is she going to make friends with around here? Emma backs up against a tree and slides down to the ground, trying to ignore how much this forest continues to look just like that clearing August took her to –

"I vowed to help Philip find his love. Aurora." At first, the words are stiff and faltering, like a car that hasn't turned over in some time. "We spent a long time journeying together. The quest was difficult, it was harrowing, and… " Mulan's gaze drops to the ground. "The experience brought us closer together."

"You fell in love with him." Emma replies softly, even though she hates that she's mentioning it.

Mulan's silence is the only answer Emma needs.

She frowns. "But, why? Why help him get Aurora? It would mean losing him."

Mulan turns to look at Emma, examining the blonde's features. In the silence, it's just the two of them. No secrets, no prying eyes or overly curious ears. "When you love someone, you are willing to put aside your own feelings if it means their happiness. That is what a warrior does. I held a duty to Philip. He cared for Aurora, therefore…" Mulan looks away from Emma, back the way they came. "I shall care for her."

"You'll be doing that a long time." Emma mutters back, not sure why those words have struck such a chord with her.

Mulan's next response is softer, but almost… happy? "It is the debt I owe. I can never repay Philip with his life, therefore, I can repay him in protecting hers. That is what we do for the ones we love."

Emma's shocked. She's been selfish for so long, worrying about the next move, the next con, the next case, caring about Henry has been the only thing she can accept. The notion of taking on the welfare of another simply because of some misplaced sense of duty sounds so _childish¸_so _fairytale_, so_…_

"So much like August…" The words barely creep past Emma's lips, but once they're gone…. They're out there. Mulan turns to face Emma, talking another few steps closer. Her body language has changed as well.

"August. Your mother… she mentioned him before." There's a creak of leather and metal and Mulan takes a seat beside Emma. "What is like August?"

Emma clears her throat, glancing up at Mulan. The pieces have begun to click into place, her mind is working in a way she's never considered it before. The reason why August was so resolved towards the end, the way he didn't seem disappointed with her for only believing when he was dying.

_I failed…_

_It doesn't matter, you don't believe…_

_I lied to protect you._

_You can see it now, can't you?_

"Emma?" Mulan's voice breaks her out of her reverie, and she blinks.

"Um… August, uh… August seemed to have this, um, this misguided notion that he needed to…" Emma doesn't really know how to put it in words. She hasn't had to before. She's been fending Snow off with lies of omission. Something August seems to have instilled in her now, but it's more out of respect for his memory. She can't afford her parents to hate Geppetto. It would be too much. "Protect me. Like… like a duty. He even went so far as to try everything he could to convince me of the truth. When I didn't see it, he…" Emma shrugs before letting her hands rest on her knees. "He got sick. Too sick. And I didn't realize what he was trying to do for me until it was too late. And now I think he's… dead…" Emma chuckles, but for some reason, she can't see clearly. That swell of emotion she keeps having to fight back against, like Monstro and the raft – _oh, God, don't think about him again – _and she's losing. "I said so many things to him that I didn't mean, simply because I was angry. Because I thought he was crazy. And I should've done more. I should've helped him the _moment_ the curse had broken. Instead, I just… I got caught up. In _everything_ else." Emma swallows. "He shouldn't have had to die."

Mulan takes a deep breath, and the immediate space between them cools, as if her calm has filtered over to Emma already. "The greatest sacrifice a warrior can make for someone they love is their life. There is no greater gift, there is no greater tool. If he felt he _needed_ to protect you, then that is the choice he made. He accepted it. You should _respect _it." Mulan's gaze has gone cloudy, she's clearly not talking about August. "There is nothing to be gained in mourning that cannot be gained in remembrance and a desire to make good on the promises you could not before. No matter what mistakes either of you have made, all you can do is live your life with honor and duty. Like they did."

Everything has gone silent again.

Emma sniffs and stands, clearing her throat. She wipes her face again, to clear her mind, and nods some. "Let's head back to camp."

Mulan looks as though she wishes she could say more, but instead, she simply nods and stands, following after her.

"Did I overstep?" Mulan's question makes Emma pause, and she glances back.

"What? No. No, I just…" The blonde smiles, shaking her head. "I need to get home. There's so much to worry about and I just can't process it all."

"I think I may have a solution to that. I think I might have a plan, to help us change our path. I have contacts in the coming town, it's possible someone may have heard or seen from Hook or Cora." Mulan is back to business again. It's comforting, so Emma doesn't fight it either. "When we get back to camp, we can tell Snow White, formulate a plan…" Mulan trails off as the two of them round the corner.

Aurora is asleep by the fire.

But where the hell is Snow White?

"Oh, you have to be kidding me…" Emma breathes, exasperation and worry permeating every bit of her body. Cold fear suddenly settles, and she swallows. "I'll find her, stay with Aurora."

Ten minutes later, Emma nearly falls down an embankment trying to get to her mother, who is curled up at the base of a tree, staring at the moon.

Emma stomps down the worry and fear there, too. Living her life with honor and duty, right? Wasn't that how Mulan put it?

First thing's first, then.

Protect her mother.


	3. Winter Star

**Setting: **Set during 2x07

**Warnings: **This chapter has references to drug and alcohol abuse, violence

**Author's Note: **So, I delayed releasing this since there isn't Once this week, so instead of this going up Thursday, you get it today, but here is the next chapter. Sorry for the delay, I know it was supposed to come out yesterday, but honestly, I got blocked on it and I realized it was because there was another chapter August wanted me to write, so… had to work on that. I had to rewrite this chapter, like, six times. I'm happy with the flashback at least. It's the wife's headcanon (thank you, wife!), and I'm inclined to agree, given what Pleasure Island was in Pinocchio's tale. **NOTE NOTE: **So, I just have to thank my wife because she pretty much fleshed out the August past headcanon for me. We both had the same general idea and she was AWESOME in helping figure out what happened to August. The two flashback characters are all me, though. :-P The last line in flashback about Pleasure Island and jackasses? Totally the wife. She's awesome. Anyway, back to work on the next chapter as I need to work on this before he A) August abandons me for the smut fic I'm writing with him and Emma (check out my AO3 account or my LJ for that) or B) these one-shots get harder to write.

**2****nd**** Author's Note: **Also, look out. August!Whump incoming. Read! Review! Pelt fish at me if you hated the whump so much, but I like torturing the BB!

* * *

Protect his father.

Ultimately, it is that thought that stops August from going to see Rumplestiltskin right after he leaves the Blue Fairy. Too much has happened, and the resurgence of guilt from his actions in Phuket remind August that he's damaged, wooden, but most of all - doesn't have anything to offer the man who loves to make deals.

He needs a plan. He needs to regroup. While he's willing to pay a price, he still needs to have a clue what it is. Or, at the least, what he _does_ have to offer that would help Gold get Emma and Snow White back home. If that price involves his father in any way… then August can't. He just can't. Not until he has something to offer.

August's shame drives him from the Convent back to the woods, then out towards the mines. As the light fades, he can hear the sounds of metal on rock in the faint distance. The mines. That must be the dwarves. With everyone's memories back... the dwarves must be working again. On something to find Snow and Emma?

August can only hope. He's trying with that, but it's difficult. No, it's suffocating right now. For a second, he finds himself wanting to give up again. He's alone, he's not even a real man anymore, and worst of all, he can't even do something functional to help Emma.

Eventually, he has to stop walking as he catches sight of the well, not sure if it's exhaustion or what might be hunger. As he stiffly makes his way over to the well, he slides down to the ground and lays back against one of the great tree's mighty roots, those wooden-lidded eyes of his focus on the stars above.

August instantly relaxes.

He's not sure how long he crashes out there again, but he finds himself staring at the stars again. They're not the stars he likes. He prefers the summer stars. There's the tail end of Scorpius before it disappears, there's Hercules and Ursa Minor and Major, the bears. And then there's Cygnus...

The Swan.

August's heart clenches painfully, the wooden body he's slowly been relearning unable to dull the heartsickness he's feeling.

He's supposed to protect her. That's all he's ever been tasked to do, and at every turn, he has screwed up. So much of his time in Phuket is a blur, so he just _knows_ his nights dreaming of Emma in the dark haze of junk and alcohol are all he _deserves _to remember. He should suffer the rest of his life for not doing what he was supposed to do in the first place.

That thought alone catches him off-guard.

When August had first arrived in Storybrooke, he knew how selfish his actions were. Fear. Shame. Embarrassment. Guilt. The laundry list of emotions that had brought him to the town could go on for days.

August's eyes blur as he feels sleep taking him over for the night. He doesn't want to sleep. He hates thinking about Phuket, about the years he wasted. Why didn't he go back for her sooner?

He keeps wondering if he'd come back sooner, if he hadn't given up, maybe she wouldn't be out there right now, trying to get back to her family. He hopes. No, he _knows. _He'd know if she was gone.

Funny thing is, even after all this time, even August can't remember why he didn't come back for her sooner…

_A whole year has passed. It should be enough time. Emma will be out of the system, and August is quite happy with the fat wad of cash in his pocket. As long as he picks up a flight out of Phuket now, it shouldn't take him more than a few days to find out where she's gone. _

_Whistling something that he vaguely remembers seeing as a child, something about strings not holding him down, August rounds the corner and winks to the ladies he's come to enjoy. He feels great. High on life, even. The boy who loves temptation has spent the last year partying and living it up._

_Swooping over to plant kisses and to get a feel for what he'll be missing, August really hates to leave. He doesn't really think he'll be gone anyway. He figures if he can just make sure Emma's set up somewhere safe, he can head back here and try his luck again, since it's been on his side. _

_Time always seems to blur in Phuket. __**Especially **__at this particular location in Patong. The nightlife is spectacular. After another dalliance with the ladies and a few more platitudes about how he'll never forget them, he heads down the street, intending to pick up transportation down to the airport. Just needs to get away for a little while. It's getting to him. He's even laid off the blow for the last couple of months. The booze, he tapered off a week or two ago. He wants a clear head, like he had when he'd had to deal with Cassady to begin with._

"_You going somewhere, Booth?" _

_The voice makes August pause, grinning roguishly as two burly men step out in front of them. One of them, the American, he knows all too well. The other one, Thai, he remembers from his last long run at the Blackjack table. "Johnny, Mao, haven't seen you guys in a while." August stuffs his hands into his pockets, at ease with the ruffians he knows so well. "But, yeah, catching a flight back to the States, thought maybe a little layover in Bangkok, just have some business to attend to."_

_John clicks his teeth, stepping closer. "We're gonna miss you, buddy. Didn't think you would be heading out any time soon."_

"_We have a good thing here." Mao's English is flawless, but somehow, he always sounds like he's about to deliver a punch. August shrugs it off, grinning wider. _

"_Yeah, well, I'm not leaving __**forever**__. There's just this girl I have to situate – "_

"_You have girls here." Mao sounds angry. August's brow furrows, and an unusual weight settles in his stomach. _

"_Yeah, I know, it's not like that." August chuckles, trying to keep cool even though John and Mao have walked closer to him, cutting his path off ahead. "Guys, call me crazy, but I might be getting the impression you don't want me to leave." _

"_Hạwhnā doesn't have that in the cards. You were supposed to bring back the winnings from your last game, scalp the marks." The Ringleader's angry? Not good. Mao crosses his arms over his chest, and August glances around him, scoping out an escape route. _

"_Guys, c'mon, I'll be back, I'll do my thing, but look, I have other things to do – "_

"_Sorry, Booth." John steps closer again. "But, no one leaves the Island. Not when they work for Hạwhnā." _

_August turns to bolt, but in the time John and Mao have been distracting him, it's too late. Several apes that identify as the Ringleader's guards are behind him. August tries to run, but one of them grabs him, and pain blossoms across his solar plexus as the wind is knocked right out of him__. _ _He goes slack as he recovers, now held up, arms pinned in some bodybuilder's vice lock._

_Panic fills his senses. This isn't how it's supposed to go. He's supposed to get back to Emma, his father's depending on him, hell, at this point, it's not like Emma has anyone either. He's supposed to help her, he was **gonna go **_**_do that._**

"_Hạwhnā says you work for him." Mao smirks, a look that shows August just how badly he'd thrown his chips in with these people. "You are his 'jackass' now." _

_August swallows, his throat goes dry. He thrashes, trying to free himself. "Look, guys, I was gonna come back – "_

"_No, Booth. You don't leave." John walks over to the chain link fence at the alley, fishing through some trash until he pulls free a heavy, filthy pipe. "We're gonna make sure of that." _ _John stalks closer. "Hold his legs."_

_ The pipe comes down, and August braces himself -_

He wakes with a start in the pre-dawn hours, heart racing, gasping for air in a purely terror-driven reaction. He blinks stupidly as he sits up, but the images are already fading. He just remembers the worst pain of his life and… fear… the dream's gone.

August feels his stomach turn, and if he had bothered to eat anything since he woke up moonlighting as a bookcase , maybe he would have something to puke up. Instead, he just curls up and tries to relax.

It takes him the better part of an hour to calm down from a numbing fear he can't even place. He hasn't had dreams like that since he made it to Storybrooke and met Emma. He can't even remember what the dreams are, but he knows he's not had night terrors like that. Then again, maybe he's been too focused on the pain of slowly turning back into a puppet to notice.

Thanks to the nightmare, now he's even more buried in self-pity, even if he's not sure why. He sighs, looking back up at the sky, searching the constellations he loves the most. But, they're not there. They've faded, and it's the winter, so there simply aren't the ones he knows so well. There is no Cygnus to give him hope. The very myth of Cygnus is of men who were disgraced in life, only to receive pity from the gods and be placed as swans in the sky. Seems hopeful. It's gotten August through many summer nights as an adult, on top of the additional reminder of Emma.

That hits him like a ton of bricks.

For the first time since he's really woken up, since he's been on the move, trying to help get Emma and Snow back, he realizes…

What would Emma think if she saw him now?

August feels an itch on the inside of his elbow he hasn't felt in a year. The realization hits him with horror. He's jonesing.

Emma would hate him. What respect would be left if the man who is supposed to protect her is walking proof of how badly he's failed?

August isn't sure he can go much lower than this before he feels that urge to just give in, give up creeping back in. He's been telling himself he won't do that, but all the solitude, the hiding… it's starting to take its toll. Before he had a drink, he had a needle, he had _something_…

Something rushes past him into the clearing, and August scrambles back clumsily, feeling just like that wooden boy in Geppetto's woodshop as he took his first ungainly steps.

A great black beast stands before him, chuffing and huffing, looking around the clearing. What it's looking for, August hasn't a clue. It does occur to him that while he might be kindling now, he doesn't doubt that a wolf like _that _could bite him. And it could _hurt_.

The wolf whines slightly, then begins to sniff around the clearing idly, before howling unhappily at the sinking moon. As the howl fades, August watches in awe as the wolf scrambles from one end of the clearing, then back the other way, like a dog searching for a master. Or… maybe not a master, but… family?

August's eyes narrow. If he was human, his expression would have been even more blatantly sympathetic, but it hurts just the same. There is only one person he ever knew to be a wolf. He'd spent a few short months watching that red cloak flutter behind her.

"Ruby…" He whispers as the wolf turns to look at him. It's so weird how normal that name feels now. He can't actually think ot just call her Red anymore.

The wolf pads closer, looking him over cautiously, but won't get within arm's reach.

Slowly, August shifts so he's in a position to kneel, and he slowly reaches out a wooden hand in a gesture of welcome. "Ruby, I'm not gonna hurt you. It's okay…"

Cautiously, the wolf steps forward, sniffing at his hand. August forces himself not to flinch, he doesn't want to scare her. If it is her. He hopes it's her. He could use a friend, and she's one of the few ones he has had the pleasure of speaking to.

"Ruby… it's me, it's August…" He doesn't know what's going on, why she's a wolf, but he hopes she's known it was coming and can control it. If that means she finds out about him, that's fine.

Ruby nuzzles his hand, whining in a way that he can only describe as comforting. He smiles, a little laugh escaping his mouth as she nuzzles his hand a bit more urgently, chuffing and growling like a playful puppy.

"Okay, so I guess I owe you and Granny an apology for disappearing, I'm sorry…"

The moon sinks beneath the horizon as the first real strands of sunlight filter through the trees.

Ruby suddenly pulls back, the wolf huffing and growling again.

"Ruby, no, wait – "

She's gone through the woods again. August tries to stand up so he can go after her, but… damn his whole body, he's made of _wood_. What's he gonna do?

Leaning against the well, August tiredly watches where Ruby's disappeared off to, trying to replay the last few moments in his head. What she was doing out there… the fact that she recognized him…

She was looking for family. Her family is Granny. _And Snow._

Familiar faces. She calmed the moment she saw him. She could tell he was a safe place.

_A safe place…_

August's eyes widen. Wait a second…

_Like a wardrobe._

This time, August doesn't let _anything_ stop him from making his way to Gold's shop.

August does have to duck behind a wall as he hears the Prince on a tear, but he can't make out what it is. Granny's with him, though, so he's in good hands.

August pauses at the entrance to Gold's shop. Up until now, he's been demoralizing himself and thinking of all these reasons why he can't do this, why he's not ready.

Not this time. Not again.

_By the time he comes to, his legs are in casts and his head's spinning. He feels a sharp stab in his arm, but August is too weak to move._

"_That oughta keep him here a while…" Is that John?_

"_The heroin or the broken bones?" Mao, that sonuvabitch… _

"_Oh, both. But, I'm guessing the heroin will be his weapon of choice." _

_That's the thing about Pleasure Island. Turns you into a jackass._

August steps inside and the bell rings. He can hear Rumplestiltskin's voice from behind the counter even before he looks at him. "Ahhh, if it isn't August. W. Booth. Might want to lock that door behind you and flip the sign, dearie. You never know who can walk in."


	4. What Is Lost

**Title: **Son of a Woodworker

**Chapter Title: **What Is Lost

**Setting: **Set during 2x08

**Author's Note: **Hi, guys! Sorry for the delay, but I've been working on Heavy Metal Lover (which, if you check out my AO3 or my LJ, you can find it there, so go read that hot stuff!) and I finished a chapter of Born on a Monday. That being said, I'm going to carry this particular fic through 2x09. It will end on an open note, and here's why: I'm gonna be starting another fic that's going to be angsty and dramatic and all tons of Wooden Swan, but it's also a future!fic, so I can work at whatever pace I feel like and want to plan it during winter hiatus. Given that it's winter hiatus and we still don't have a clue where August is, I want to end Son of a Woodworker on a somewhat cliffhanger note to match the winter hiatus, and then when the show picks back up, I should be able to as well to still run the subplot in my head. What was a book, I'm sorry, I just wanted to keep everyone in the loop because I'm OCD like that.

**2****nd**** Author's Note: **I realize that there is something I probably should say now. If it turns out that we find out August has been like, in Jiminy's office or Geppetto's workshop from day one, I will probably wind up wrapping this for a while and shelving it until the season is DONE, then I will come back and finish it. I prefer if something's out of continuity, that I know going in, so it's only fair that if that's the case, I come back and state it's slightly AU to Season 2. ANYWAY. SHUTTING UP NOW.

**Warnings: **Um, below lies some serious Geppetto family feels. You might… ugh, I dunno, you might need a towel or seven for all the crying, because I cried writing this. I didn't expect it to hurt so much.

* * *

You never know who will walk in.

"His hat. My boy, he would never go anywhere without his hat."

Every conversation starts this way. Archie… Jiminy… he's come to expect it.

Every morning, it's always the same. The old man once known as Marco, who knew only the loss of children he never had, gets up and works in his garage, then heads to the office occupied by his oldest friend and sometimes oldest enemy.

Geppetto is sitting on the same spot on Jiminy's couch he always does, clutching the one artifact that seems to survive even through the darkest of times. A little red cap slides between his fingers as he keeps turning the one thing he has of his boy, staring at it idly. He doesn't sleep except when his body forces him to.

Some days, that is all he ever says. He walks in, takes his seat, starts with Jiminy: "His hat" and the rest of the hour is spent in silence as the carpenter runs his fingers lovingly along the brim of the little red cap, so battered, but yet still in such good condition. The little feather tickles Geppetto's calloused fingers, and he finds himself swallowing back a lump in his throat, reminded of how it would feel to have his boy hug him, that feather brushing his cheek.

The silent days are the worst. He wants to speak, but he can think of _nothing_. At first, the thoughts are slow, a trickle of worry here, a thought of elation for his son's survival there. Then, they begin to come faster, in greater frequency. Where is he? Is he safe? Is he eating and taking care of himself?

The thoughts keep turning through Geppetto's mind as he keeps hold of that cap, slumped in the corner of the couch. How did he keep up with the family trade? Why did he not try to see him sooner?

What kind of man has he become?

And then the reminder sets in. His apprentice. August. The man he had barely begun to know, who had seemed so stiff and weak at times, looking at Marco with such… adoration.

Henry's words whispered in his ear, like so many secrets from his dear Pinocchio in the past.

August is Pinocchio.

August is his precious, dear boy.

And he is gone. He has left and Geppetto has no idea where. All he has left is this cap… This one precious thing that has travelled with his boy _everywhere_ in the old world and this new one.

Why would he leave it now? Perhaps he hates him now. Perhaps he is so angry with him for leaving him here alone, he wants to forget. Like every day that Geppetto sits in the office of his oldest friend, he refuses to see the hope that led him to seek out a son in this marionette in the first place.

All he knows is his boy left his hat. He needs to get it back to him somehow.

_I don't think I became the man he wanted me to be._

This isn't the first time, and it certainly won't be the last, but the memories have overwhelmed the man. The tears spill over his cheeks at the loss, the realization that he has disappointed his son, leaving him in this horrible, terrible world all alone, entrusting him with something he couldn't possibly do.

Geppetto clutches the cap tighter, threatening to crush it in his fingers as his tears turn to honest sobs. It seems today will be one of those days where he lets the loss of his son, the hopelessness of the situation tear him apart, with no end in sight.

While his boy hasn't been gone for long, it has been 28 years since Geppetto has held his boy. 28 years since he told his boy to be strong, to protect Emma.

And his boy has had 28 years to take all of that responsibility, the weight of guilt and the fate of the land on his shoulders.

It's too much. It's always too much. This father knows he will never be able to apologize to his son. He never truly expected him to succeed. It had been a foolish, _foolish_ dream of a scared old man.

The sobs wrack his body harder as he lets himself sink into that place where his son never comes home, where he cannot find him, and he's left alone with his own choices. There is no way to describe the physical anguish that takes hold of him in these moments. Everything about this world seems to make pain even more raw than what he knows to be true. His chest clenches painfully, and he finds himself brought right back to the brink of his first terrifying experience without his son.

_The night has fallen. Where is Pinocchio? Where is Jiminy? That cricket is supposed to be watching his son, where has the boy gone?_

_Geppetto takes the walk to the village school at twice the pace he normally does, ignoring the fact that his chest burns. A new emotion has taken root there. Worry, panic, the sense of terror only a father can have for his son's welfare. _

_It is at the sight of one of the village boys, holding a torch as he walks from the butcher closing up shop for the night, that Geppetto feels relief. Perhaps he has seen his boy. _

"_Have you seen my boy? Have you seen Pinocchio?" The child hasn't, and before Geppetto realizes it, he has begun to ask relentlessly with every child he has seen. That weight, that new fear, has continued to grow and swell. He simply doesn't know what to do with it, even as he tries to tell himself all will be fine. He has barely had his son for a week, and suddenly, he is gone? He was to go to school with the other boys. _

_No one has seen his boy. _

_Before he knows it, Geppetto is bolting through the village, calling for his boy. With each shout, the desperation becomes clearer. As he reaches the edge of the village, spent, winded, and his vision clouded with tears, Geppetto is lost. _

_He sinks to his knees, crying his boy's name._

_But he hasn't come home._

Geppetto feels the weight of his friend's hand on his arm, and the old, broken man looks up, surprised from his unabashed bawling.

Unlike the other days, though, Jiminy is not remaining a silent counterpart in front of the carpenter, waiting for resolution that will not come until father and son are reunited.

"Geppetto. He is _going_ to come back home." The voice is still the one he remembers on his shoulder, but there are still no words to help assuage Geppetto's sorrow.

"When?" He whispers, his eyes searching his old friend's human face, a face he has spent 28 years with, but at once, hasn't seen since he was a child. "How could I be such a fool, Jiminy?" Geppetto sits up. "I should have built the wardrobe faster. If I had been faster, if I had not been so… so selfish trying to teach Pinocchio _everything_, my boy could have had the Queen's help. The two of them could have gone together, they would have been together and my boy wouldn't have had to grow up alone." The tears fall faster, and he blinks stupidly, reaching up to wipe them away. It's almost a shock. "He grew up with _no one! _I left him to care for a _baby. Alone. _I have no right to be his father!"

Jiminy's hands reach for the cap. He pulled back instinctively, but as he glimpses down to it. Geppetto's heart skips a beat painfully as he realizes he had held the velvet cap so tightly, he has begun to ruin its shape. A horrified little noise leaves his lips, but Jiminy takes it and smoothes it out with care.

He can't even care for the cap of his precious little boy any longer. Hope seems so far away again.

"Geppetto…" Jiminy's voice is soothing, especially as he watches the man finish reshaping the cap, then put it aside just out of arms reach. "You did what you thought was best for your son." He reaches up, pulling his glasses off so he can rub his eyes. "Regardless of how it turned out, you _are_ his father, and you did what you could. We both have enough regret to live a lifetime, but…" Jiminy folds his hands in front of him, glasses hanging by one of the temples. "You… you can't focus on the past. You have to live in the present."

"And how am I supposed to do that, eh?" Geppetto's voice is surly, he feels anger begin to well up at Jiminy's assumption that things could be so easy. "I don't know where he is! My boy is out there! For all we know, he has crossed the town line." And there's the crux of it. That is the real fear Geppetto has. If they cannot cross the line, he cannot follow after, and he might never see his son again.

"He hasn't." Jiminy's voice is firm. "I don't believe he would. Geppetto… you _have to have faith._"

"In what?" He scoffs, wanting to let the anger take hold.

"Your son kept his promise, didn't he? He came back. He did what you asked him to, even with that _monumental weight_ on his shoulders." Jiminy smiles a little, unfazed by the anger. "So have faith in _him._ He found you once."

Geppetto stops, and he finds himself playing words in his head all over again.

_I made him a promise – a long time ago. By the time I got around to making good on it, I think I was too late. _

_But you kept your promise. You realized your mistake and you tried to fix it. That's important. _

"If I had a son…" Geppetto whispers, finishing the memory as his vision blurs once more. "That would be enough for me."

Jiminy has heard the story of August's visit to Marco's garage before. He must know why Geppetto's eyes have clouded.

"He said he wanted to fix things." Geppetto glances up at his friend, swallowing back tears. Faith in his son, he said. The hope seems to be welling up even while he thinks it shouldn't. "He was sick. He was hurting."

"No son ever wants to leave their father forever." Jiminy's voice is heavy. "No matter how much bad blood is between them." Geppetto is only barely listening now.

He stands, taking the cap with one hand as he wipes his face clean with the other. "Then it is my turn."

"Turn?" Jiminy stands as well. The hour isn't over, it breaks the cycle they've been following.

"He found me. Now it is time I find him." Geppetto feels renewed, reaches over and pats Jiminy's shoulder. "Because that is what family does. We find each other."


	5. What Is Found

**Title: **Son of a Woodworker  
**Chapter Title: **What Is Found  
**Setting: **Set just before 2x08  
**Author's Note: **Hi, all! We're down to the last couple of chapters here, and I couldn't be happier. I'm also kinda sick right now, so it's making me depressed. Would anyone be able to cheer me up? Anyone? This flipping chapter took forever until Rumple started talking, then it just flowed forth like insanity. I actually think Gold in my head worries August enough that the man goes SILENT. My poor BB. Read, review, share! All that good stuff!

* * *

"Because that's what family does. They _find_ each other." August may be made of wood, but he wants to think he still has that conviction he had as a 'real man.' His voice is confident, desperate, even if he has to stumble around the counter of Rumpelstiltskin's shop, trying to keep the attention he's gotten thus far – probably because he 's a novelty piece.

Gold's laugh is just as painful as the same one he gave at August's poor choice of words trying to make Emma believe. "I'm sorry, let's just take a wee step back here." Gold turns to face August, leaning against his counter with ease. Even with the light, airy and dismissive tone, August isn't deterred. At this point, he's come to peace that he's willing to pay any price as long as it protects his father and gets Emma and her mother back to Storybrooke. Wherever they are. "Do you think you're their _family?_" Gold chuckles and August is suddenly thankful – for the first time since waking up – that he's made of wood. He can't feel his cheeks heat with embarrassment and anger.

"I told you last time," August tries to keep his voice casual, even though his head is spinning as he feels more and more like he's running out of time. He'd been slinking around this town and through the woods ever since he woke up, and he really has no scope anymore. Days really do lose meaning when you pass them over and over again without a watch. If Phuket taught him nothing else, it taught him that. "Emma trusts me-"

"_Trusted_ you," Gold holds his cane up towards August's wooden chest, cutting him off as the two of them stand in the quickly dimming light of the shop. "Past tense. Correct me if I'm wrong, but you haven't exactly been wandering around showing off your..." Gold's eyes rake down August's body in a way that doesn't feel dirty only because it feels so... belittling. "New tan. Does Miss Swan know that you've been a naughty boy, Pinocchio?"

"Don't call me that." August regrets letting it get under his skin as soon as Gold says his given name. It's astounding to think a name that he knows people have grown up hearing and thinking of that animated film could cause such a visceral reaction, but August knows he should be used to it by now. He just has a hard time letting the really personal things go.

The ammunition has been given, and Gold's smile is cold, calculating. August vaguely remembers seeing that look on Rumpelstiltskin's face as a child, and his eyes have to search the shop for distraction. "So _that's_ what went wrong. You tried, you failed, and it took her almost losing her _son_ for her to break the curse. Does she even _want_ to see you?"

It's a good question. August finds his mind fading back to the last time he saw her, the way she looked at him with such... hope, and then loss. Like, she knew that she needed his help and he was... utterly useless.

August has been fighting his demons all this time, and for just a moment, they've won him over again, reminding him how completely and utterly useless he is. The very notion that he's considered himself a 'guardian angel' of sorts at any point just tastes like lead in his mouth. "She saw me. She believed." August finds that his voice isn't cooperating. He wants to sound confident, laid back and casual, the persona of August W. Booth he knows to be comfortable. "I told you I was sick. Same thing I told her. It took actually seeing me..." He trailed off. "Before she understood how powerful it was. She believed before then, though." He sounds way too much like the last time he was in this shop, trying to muster words for his father.

"That would be because of Regina, and through her, _Henry._" Gold reiterates as he steps around the counter, cane hitting the wood slats of the floor with an ominous clack. "_You_, Mister Booth, got in the way. You were neither helpful, nor are you family. If anything, she probably thinks you are dead, and that is _if_ Miss Swan is still alive."

"She is." August knows he should be surprised by his confidence, but if there is one single fact in this world he is sure if, it's that Emma is _not_ dead. She's missing, not gone. He knows the difference. "She is still alive, Gold. And if I can help her, then I _have_ to." August presses on. "In _all_ of your life, there must be someone that you have indescribable hope is alive. Don't you?"

There is a long pause, a flicker in Gold's eyes August has never seen before. His gaze slips to the floor. And then, he's off again. "Emma and Mary Margaret fell through a _hat_, a portal that has no destination and was spinning wildly out of control." Gold heads towards the back of the shop, and August struggles to follow after him, barely managing to keep his hands in his pockets and not knock something over. "I have it on good authority, thanks to our acting Sheriff, that they might actually landed somewhere quite familiar. Very serendipitous if you ask me."

August's heart jumps to his throat. It's not possible... "The Enchanted Forest..." He mutters, even if it sounds impossible. _Hello. Wooden man. Walking impossibility. Shut up, August._

"Possibly. And if that's so, it's entirely possible that Emma and Mary Margaret are looking for a way back on their own." Gold leads him to the back room and waits for August with patience that should concern him. Rumpelstiltskin's reputation has given August plenty of reason to think he's at home with the long con. "Now, the Sheriff has a suspicion that is the case, but he's not in a position to do anything about it."

Gold stops at his work bench, leaning on his cane as he pivots to face August. "I _am_."

"And how exactly is that?" August is suspicious, he doesn't bother hiding it. He can still hear the Blue Fairy reminding him that she doesn't think he can afford the price he'll have to pay to Gold, but he's still willing to take that risk.

"I have you."

A weight sinks into August's stomach. Maybe he should have listened to the Blue Fairy. "Excuse me?"

"Well, dearie, if I were Snow, I would be looking for a portal that we know for a _fact_ goes to this world." Gold smiles, probably at his own cleverness more than anything else. He holds his finger up and uses it to emphasize his point, and August can almost see the demon behind that seemingly harmless face. "And what is the _one_ thing we know did that the first time around?"

"The wardrobe." August finishes the thought that Gold leaves dangling.

"Exactly. The wardrobe." The demure nature returns, but August is still tense. He has a bad feeling about what's coming. "And while there's probably enough magic left in it to bring those two back here, there is _one_ small catch."

"Crossing the town line." August remembers hearing Grumpy's shouts as he left town the first time. If Emma and Mary Margaret showed up outside of Storybrooke, there's no guarantee that Snow's memories would stick around. "Emma was always excluded, but not Mary Margaret. There's a chance she'd... forget." August swallows, but it won't go down. Really? Because he wasn't there to protect Emma like he was supposed to, she could lose her family again? "How do we stop that from happening?" August's question comes out in a rush.

Gold shrugs. "Well, we'd need to find a way to draw the portal _into_ Storybrooke. Not an easy accomplishment by far. They can go take a seat in the wardrobe, it's still going to pop them out wherever..." He waves his hand towards the sky a bit. "You and Miss Swan landed all those years ago in that great wide somewhere. Unless, of course, we had something that was also enchanted similarly. So, something made out of a very powerful..." Gold's eyes focus back on August. "Tree, for example."

_Pinocchio, don't! You don't know what he'd ask of you._

_You are not prepared for that._

August ignores the warnings the Blue Fairy tried to give him, and he glances up at Gold. "What are you proposing?"

"Well, obviously, we don't know how or when Emma and Snow will attempt to use the portal. So, the best solution would be to use the magic you possess as a homing beacon. But, if it doesn't work, well..." Gold tilts his head, frowning. "It would not be in my best interest to waste the favor you still owe me on something as trivial as your death." Gold picks up something from the work bench, and the glint of metal catches August's eye. He can't swallow now. He feels something that he's not really sure how to express, other than that it's fear and trepidation.

Gold takes a few steps closer and holds up the wood plane. "Now. If you'll pull up your sleeve, Mister Booth. Just a shaving or two should do the trick."

"You want a shaving of _my arm._" August reiterates, the disbelief only barely colored by what he will gladly admit as fear. He knows of The Dark One. While August might've been brave enough once to think he could get one over on Rumpelstiltskin he isn't stupid enough to think he can do it again. If there's a reason he wants the shaving... it's a _very_ big reason.

"Well, yes." Gold still sounds like the two of them are talking about the weather or baseball stats. "Any part of your body is currently still imbued with the magic of the enchanted tree you came from. Magic works on the principle that like substances seek each other out. Hence, if Emma and Snow go through the wardrobe, to draw them anywhere other than the original portal exit, I need something that's been through that portal _and_ has magic in its own right: You."

August knows he should say no. Giving him a shaving of _any_ part of his body is a bad idea. He knows that. He doesn't know much about magic at all, but he does know that if you give something to someone like Rumpelstiltskin It will come back to haunt you. But, it might really be the only thing to get Emma and her mother home. He owes this to her.

"Fine." August pulls up his sleeve with courage he's not entirely sure he's actually feeling. He's handled many a human foe. Hell, even his hazy nightmares of Phuket hold demons that make him jump up out of bed in a cold sweat. But this is different. He was a child when he first set eyes on Rumpelstiltskin.

As Rumpelstiltskin sets the plane in place along his forearm, August's breath catches. The two men meet gazes, and August feels that same, childish fear of the Bogeyman he felt when the other man held a knife to his throat.

The plane drags across August's wooden arm.

"Just let me know if you feel anything... earth-shaking."


	6. La speranza E L'ultima A Morire

**Title: **Son of a Woodworker  
**Chapter Title: **La Speranza E L'ultima A Morire  
**Setting: **Just after 2x09  
**Author's Note: **Hi, guys! Sorry for the delay, I hit massive writer's block and wound up having to rethink a bunch of this fic and move stuff around so that I can delay the possibility that this becomes SUPER-AU when August comes back. Honestly, since we don't know what the hell he could possibly be doing ALL SEASON, I'm just going to have to assume either I'm right and he's been there all along, oooor, he's been gone all this season and then the show can do what it wants and I will stick a disclaimer on this. As I have seen from many of you, though, you would rather I continue than stop, and frankly, I'm not a horrible person, so I'd rather keep you guys addicted to my fic – HAPPY. I MEANT HAPPY. So, enjoy, I warn you. There are feels. So many feels. Emma feels. I think she was the key component I'd been missing these last few chapters, and frankly, if the show's not gonna do this scene…_ I_ am gonna do it.  
**2nd Author's Note: **Also, I warn you, you may hate Emma or me at the end of this, but I think it's, sadly, a very logical progression of events. Good news is, hey, I know where I'm going with this again! **Read! Review! Share! **

* * *

Earth-shaking.

That's the best way Emma can describe the bizarre adventure she'd just had.

And yet, the streets in Storybrooke so late in the evening seem all too normal for Emma. After many nights under the stars of the Enchanted Forest, the… absolutely bizarre experience with Cora and Hook, and just… the entire mess, Emma expects danger around every corner.

She feels like she's being watched, and at each step, she wants to glance back, find the eyes that keep trailing down her spine.

Even as she walks alone, wandering so she has some space from her family – oh, that's still weird – the town doesn't feel safe. She's not sure it ever will. She tries to block out the sounds of the small town as it closes up for the night, if only so she can confirm that there won't be the following bellows of trolls or ogres or yet _another_ insane phantom of the night just behind the sleepy main street.

Nope. Just Storybrooke. Just the place she's come to call home for the last year, even if she's never called another place "home" before and truly meant it. Full of memories now, of attachments, of people she's wanted to see ever since she got dumped here. She's missed Granny's cooking, Ruby's charm and easy way of always knowing what Emma wants to drink at the diner and she misses bumping into August like it's…

Emma's easy, muted mood suddenly doesn't feel so muted anymore.

Emma's footsteps falter until they come to a stop in the middle of the empty street, and she takes a deep breath as her gaze scans the road ahead. Ahead of her… she knows she can head to the loft, and her mother probably won't bother her, too wrapped up in reuniting with her father. Ugh, so much of that is weird and makes Emma feel like nothing is real. It makes her heart clench painfully, aching for some semblance of normalcy.

But, Emma knows, even as she slowly turns around, pivoting on her heels and staring back at Granny's… she doesn't know what normal is. Is normal bumping into August, pretending she doesn't know he had been telling the truth all along, having never outright lied to her; just omitting the more fantastical elements until it came rushing forth like the tide? Or is normalcy another empty spot in her heart where she blocks it all out? Pretends she didn't watch his eyes cloud over and turn to painted wood –

Emma blinks back moisture and warmth in her eyes, swallows down a lump in her throat.

She can't do this. She can't be expected to just live her life with this secret eating her from the inside. She hasn't let herself think about August since before they'd begun the final push to get back home. She knows she's been holding onto this… silly notion that August might still be alive _somehow_. But, she knows better. She knows what she saw, she knows that she had seen the look in his eyes of a man who was…

Dying.

Emma swallows again, then takes a deep breath, forcing the pain back down. She doesn't get close to people easily, she knows this. But, August is different, and even if she doesn't want to admit it, she knows why. The connection… the fact that he was supposed to protect her… she had gone to him for help with Henry because, even after everything, she'd realized he'd told the truth and that he could help.

And he turned to wood in front of her, probably thinking he didn't mean anything to her.

Emma starts walking towards Granny's before she really has a chance to think about what she's doing.

This has to stop. All of it has to stop. She just needs to see his body, affirm that he's gone, and she'll do what she has always done.

Emma will run. She will run from his memory so she never has to think about him again. Because that is the _only_ option.

Emma's feet won't pass the first step to the inn.

She tries again, but her feet are iron, her legs have gone heavy.

_I can't do this…_

Emma tries to backpedal, bumping into the railing unceremoniously.

_What if he's still up there? Shouldn't he still be up there? _

"Emma?" The voice in front of her rips her from her thoughts, and she's faced with the Widow Lucas, the door to the Inn already open, propped by the old woman's hip.

Emma swallows, not sure how to explain what she's doing there this late, or even how to cover for how obviously distracted she is. "Um… Granny, I just… " Words completely failing her, Emma feels like a fool.

"Sweetheart, how about you come on inside for a bit?" Granny's voice, the smell of cocoa past her, it's all too inviting, and Emma's feet start to move on their own.

She pauses. She can't do it. No. Not even with Granny there. "Um… I… actually, I was just here to… see…" Emma knows she has to cover. The secret August kept might have been discovered by Granny while she was gone, but Emma can't afford to take that chance. She can't let anyone in. "How… how's August doing?" Emma's voice is hesitant, she knows Granny doesn't believe what she's asking any more than she does. But, there's that little bit of hope still clinging, still hanging on, wanting August to just round the corner and say "I've been meaning to bump into you."

"August?" Granny's surprised expression practically stops Emma's heartbeat mid-thump. "Oh…" The sigh in that sound, the annoyance, takes Emma aback. "Well, truth be told, I haven't seen him, lass." The widow finally steps out of the doorway and Emma watches it go, cutting off the avenue to August's room even as she tries to absorb what she's saying. The woman sounds like she's two seconds away from punching something. "In fact, I went to check on him a few days ago and… well, looks like he hasn't been there in a while. Room's cleaned up and everything, but he hasn't paid rent since, well, since the whole curse broke. Now, mind you, I don't care who he thinks he is…"

Emma's brain has completely stalled. His room is clean? He isn't there?

_Then where the hell is he?!_

"I don't care who the boy thinks he is, he could be Little Boy Blue and just leaves to stay in a shack somewhere so he can tend to his horses and his cows with his horn…"

Did someone find the body? Move it? He was _solid wood_ when she left him.

Maybe it worked when she broke the curse….

_And he left._

"Regardless, I have bills I still have to pay, and dammit, that means he has to pay his rent. He has his things there, and that means he needs to be responsible for his commitments."

Emma realizes she hasn't seen his bike since she got back.

_He left, Emma._ _If he's not dead, he left. _

"Emma?" Granny's voice forces Emma to focus, and her eyes wander back to the older woman's. "Have you been listening to anything I've been saying?"

_He's not here, Emma. _

Emma swallows, nodding and trying to put on a brave face.

"Thanks, Granny, I'll… um, look, I'll cover his rent for the last few weeks. Just…" Emma's surprised her voice sounds so even, or that she's even making the offer. "Leave me a… a bill or… something at the Sheriff's office, thanks…" Emma just wants out. She backpedals so fast her hip bumps the railing and it spins her around just in time for her to jog down the stairs and walk briskly away.

With each step, she finds herself choking back tears, determined not to let a single one fall. She's had worse, she's been hurt worse, this is no different.

Dead or alive, it really doesn't matter, does it? If he's dead, nothing will bring him back.

If he's alive, he's got every reason to stay away.

_Let's be honest with ourselves…_

Emma swallows it down. Forget. Don't think about him. Just like she doesn't think about Graham.

Because no matter what hope Emma has kept alive thus far, it doesn't matter now. The facts speak for themselves.

August is not here.

_Did you really think he would be?_


	7. Tutto A Posto

**Title: **Son of a Woodworker  
**Chapter Title: **Tutto A Posto  
**Setting: **The Beginning of 2x10  
**Author's Note: **Hi, guys! Next chapter, and it was a chapter that made me squee while I wrote it. I swear, I know where this is going, so if you find yourself wrapped up in feels and going "I don't know what you're planning, Cassie," that's okay, because it will slowly begin to become clear as we go. So, enjoy, I warn you. There are feels. So many feels. ARCHIE. He just… OMG. I never expected to actually write from Archie's perspective and I am QUITE glad I did. Also, there is one more Italian title, then I swear, no more of those. LOL. Anyway, please **read, review, and share**! Hope you enjoy!

* * *

He's not here.

_Did you really expect him to be?_

The party has dwindled down to a trickle, and Archie has finally excused himself for the evening. He can't help it. Even with the pleasant conversation, the wonderful news that Emma and Snow are settled and well, Archie's mood is slightly soured as his eyes scan the room.

"Have a nice night, Archie." He hears Red say as he passes her. He smiles politely, but his heart isn't in it. After all, how can he be happy? His best friend, the man who has been suffering for his lost child, understandably doesn't feel like coming to a party celebrating Emma and Snow's return. Archie has been hoping that Geppetto will see reason, come along, maybe even ask for help in determining what has happened to his son, but, it's too much.

Once he makes it outside, Archie glances down the road, contemplating a walk down to his friend's home. On a night like this one, he knows Geppetto has probably set himself upon some poor, unsuspecting hutch or a child's toy, and he's probably trying to keep himself busy.

But, something makes Archie stop in his tracks and turn, heading back to his office. His guilt over the situation with Pinocchio, it's too much for all of them. In all honesty, he's surprised he hasn't seen the Blue Fairy visit Geppetto, considering her involvement. But, he knows Geppetto's memory is quite deep. He's thrown Jiminy's sins in his face before – which Archie needed to hear, he's aware of that – and it wouldn't surprise him that a conversation with the Blue Fairy would end just as badly.

Maybe it's that there's still a very real part of Archie that always wants to take the path of least resistance.

Sighing, Archie makes his way across the street, on his way to the stairs leading up to his office.

"Jiminy?"

The voice stops him in his tracks. He's heard that voice before, but… Archie turns slightly, swallowing. His heart has started to race in direct juxtaposition to his mind, which seems to have gone blank.

In the dark shadows, the gap between his office building and the next beside him, a figure stands, hands tucked in pockets of a black leather jacket. Face obscured from no light, the body language is so familiar to Archie, and he knows. He just _knows._

"Pinocchio?" He whispers, confused and hesitant. He doesn't want to be hopeful. He doesn't want to believe what he sees in front of him.

"Hi… Archie." The voice is unmistakably the one belonging to August W. Booth. To Pinocchio.

His voice is gone, his mouth has gone dry, but there is a lump in his throat he can't seem to swallow past. He takes a step closer.

"Don't." August is quiet. He sounds… weak? "Can I come upstairs?"

Oh. That's a question that needs an answer. Archie forces his mouth – and brain – to work. "O-Of course. Please…" Archie glances behind him, around the street, but there's no one out there. "Come in."

August moves faster than Archie expects, and before he realizes it, he's held open the door and watching the back of a man walking up the stairs. From the back, with the helmet on and the leather jacket, hands stuffed in his pockets, Archie can't be sure why this feels so… _wrong_ to him.

He follows August up the stairs, fishing his keys out of his pocket, head bowed as he does so. There is so much he wants to say, so much he wants to ask, but he doesn't know where to start, and he knows that for whatever reason, August's silence and disappearance has been intentional.

He's so distracted, thinking of all those things he wants to say and ensuring that he doesn't say them. It isn't until he's unlocked the door to his office and stepped inside, where Pongo has been sleeping since Archie brought him back up here during the party, that he realizes what's truly happening.

Archie glances up as he puts his keys in his pocket and turns to face his visitor. Geppetto's son. Geppetto's _boy_. He's _here._

Archie's glasses fall slightly down his nose as he jumps a little, not prepared for what's in front of him.

The man in front of him reaches up to pull the helmet off of his head, and now, he can see August in his entirety. His vision clouds slightly as he sees the darkly stained wood that comprises August's face, and as August unzips his jacket, pulling it off slowly, Archie sees that his arms and fingers are just as bad.

"Oh…" The little noise from his lips is sad. Profoundly sad. It's all he can manage. "Pinocchio… what… what happened to you?" Archie's lip trembles a little, in that way it always does when he stutters, not really sure what he wants to say, or how to say it. He hopes beyond hope this is not the reason he's stayed away. He wants to think that August has not had to suffer this way alone.

"Um…" August is looking at the floor as he finally finishes stripping off his jacket with care. Pongo has finally woken, and he trots over to sniff at August's feet, a whine escaping the canine in a way that completely resonates with Archie. "Life, oddly enough." August tosses his things onto the couch, holding his arms out in a way that entreats Archie to look him over further, as if he's on _display._ "I don't think it would've been that tough of a stretch for you to realize that I could've used you on my shoulder these last… oh, 28 years." Archie swallows thickly as August continues. "I screwed up, Jiminy." August sounds so… exhausted and tired. "I thought I could do it, but I just couldn't. I left Emma when she needed me, and by the time I found her again…" He sighs, and Archie realizes very suddenly that while he looked like a man, there was a part of August that was still that young boy.

"O-Oh, please. Please sit." Archie extends his arm in a motion to suggest August takes a seat, and he steps closer, ready to fall over himself to help this boy he had such high hopes for all those years ago. August waves his gesture away, but he does take a seat. But why does he look so broken, so weak? Just sitting down takes more effort than Archie ever remembers him needing to as a boy, even when he was wooden. "Where have you _been_? Your father has been worried sick, ever since Henry told him you were here." Archie takes a seat across from August, trying to curb the hundreds of questions running through his mind. "_Everyone_ has been worried about you."

"I don't know, they seem to be doing just fine without me." August grumbles, clearly without thinking to hold his tongue.

Archie's brow furrows. He understands why August is upset, but he knows that it's also not that simple. "Pinocchio – "

"I haven't been Pinocchio since I was a boy. I'm August now." August gives Archie a look that, even if less expressive, gets the point across.

"You're right." Archie concedes, finding himself falling into the role of 'conscience' with ease. "I apologize. You must have been through a great deal." Archie pauses, confusion sweeping over his features. "Wait, you mentioned the party. Were you…" He tilts his head to look at August, shifting in his seat. "August, were you there?" The guilty look on his face makes Archie sigh. "Okay, that's just… a little creepy. Is that what you've been doing here? Wandering around, watching others?"

"Well, what am I supposed to do, Archie?" August throws his hands up in defeat, the resounding clack an obvious point of contention for the wooden man. "I couldn't exactly just waltz in during Emma and Mary Margaret's Welcome Home Party going 'Gee, Emma, I am absolutely thrilled you are back, but I was too busy taking lessons from an _armoire!'_"

Archie sighs. If August has been lurking around town, he can't imagine what he's seen or heard since they've been back. But, given his response, he's assuming August is coming from a place of… exclusion. Feeling forgotten. "August…" He begins. "I don't think you understand. Emma has assumed you're dead. Or gone. Either way, she has this… this…" Archie motions to his own chest. "Hole where you were, and she has to figure out how to move on past that. Emma deals with that by not mentioning them. Henry's doing it, too, because he doesn't want to upset her." Archie lets out a little huff of frustration. "But, you're _here._ You have _got_ to go see her."

"What, like this?" August waves his hand, hearing his fingers clack together. "Archie, I can't. She saw me turn like this, I can't show her that I…" August trails off, his eyes closing as he drops his hand.

Another wave of sorrow and pity run through Archie. August feels like he isn't good enough. For _anyone. _"She thinks you gave up on her." Archie presses, even though he knows that isn't entirely true.

"What?" August's sharp note of hurt mixed in with confusion catches Archie by surprise. He had known August and Emma held a sense of camaraderie, but, was there more? "Archie, I know she had no reason to ever want to see me again after I told her who I was. But she came back, she asked me for help with Henry and I was too weak to do anything! But, I never gave up on her! I always had faith in her. I'm just…" August swallows. "Archie, I'm not ready. I don't want her to see me like this."

"But you need to." It has become clear to Archie in this moment that it isn't solely his father's forgiveness he's been looking for. It's Emma's.

"I _won't_, Jiminy, so let it _go!_" The use of his real name – old name – gives Archie more than enough reason to pause in the face of conflict. So he does. He lets it go. He's not ready. He knows trying to explain why would be impossible to Emma, but… he understands.

"Okay… Okay." He concedes, holding his hand up as he tries to figure out the best way to move forward. "On one condition."

"Jiminy…" August warns. He knows where he's going with this, it's plain on his face.

"Just go see him." Archie pleads. "Just for a few minutes. He loved you like this before, he loves you no matter who you are or what you've done, but you are _breaking_ his heart, _Pinocchio." _Archie sees August flinch, but it seems to have been the chink in his armor he needs. "He needs his son. And you need your father."

There's a long, _long_ silence. He can't tell what August is thinking, but considering it's been so long since Archie has seen him, he frankly doesn't care. He's just glad he's _here_.

"Do you think he's home? I didn't see him… um…" August glances up at Archie, the expression a mixture of guilt and nerves. "From the window, I mean. At the party."

Archie stands, the relief washing over him like a warm gust of air in the summer. He reaches out for August's jacket, picking it up. Thankfully, the man follows by standing and facing him. "He chose to stay home tonight. He's probably still working on that jewelry box the two of you had started." Archie smiles, hoping that his optimism will bleed over to August. "Go, August. See him. I promise you won't regret it."

August nods and takes his things. "Thanks, Archie." He pulls back on his unique blend of costume and clothing. "I'll see you soon."

Five minutes later, Archie's sitting at his desk in his office, staring at his files on his desk, but he's not thinking about anything work-related.

Pongo trots over and sniffs his hand, whining again. Archie scratches behind his ears.

"I know, boy. I hope they work it out, too." He sighs. "He needs all the support he can get."

Pongo simply paws at Archie's hand again, demanding more comfort. There never seems to be enough of it.


	8. Niente In Ordine

**Work Title:** Son of a Woodworker  
**Chapter Title: **Niente in Ordine  
**Setting: **Set During 2x10  
**Author's Note: **OMG, you guys! I am SO SORRY for taking forever on this, but 1) I actually scared myself stupid trying to write it, it was very intimidating and 2) I got caught up in work and that screwed me up. BUT, after the news that Eion is back on set filming (here's to hoping that he was on a closed set during 2x17, since he was definitely at the set having lunch then) it gave me the motivation to keep going with this. I am hoping that the reunion that I wrote is even half as good as what we get on the show, and I hope this was worth the wait. **Read, review, share! **Definitely let me know what you think!

* * *

Courage. There never seems to be enough of it. No matter how much Archie's words resonate with August, he can't seem to stop the quivering of his body, the way his wooden limbs are shaking with each step.

It's taken him an hour to work up the nerve to do what his conscience has asked him. Say what he will about Jiminy, but he really does seem to always know what August _should_ be doing, even if it's not what he wants to. Of course, that doesn't make the steps he's taking any easier.

He's tired. He's weak. The knowledge that Rumpelstiltskin took a part of him, that August _let it happen,_ and yet Emma and Mary Margaret returned without it, has led August to think that his increasing weakness is because of the Dark One. How he could be so desperate to let that happen?

As August turns the corner towards a dimly lit garage, barely visible behind the large boat that his father still hasn't fixed... his feet still. He's frozen, knees locked and his heart pounding in his chest with an intensity he hasn't really felt since he was face to face with the Blue Fairy.

He can't do this.

August's heart has risen to his throat, all thoughts that he's been pushing back, telling himself that he is strong enough to do this, suddenly come forth and roar in his ears. What if he's ashamed? What if he doesn't want anything to do with him? What if he sees that where once was skin is now lacquer and he can't handle the disappointment?

What if he hates him because he failed all of them?

Before August can stop himself, he's turning, pivoting on his heel to walk away. After all, he's behind the boat, he hasn't been spotted -

A muffled thud and a bark of profanity makes August freeze once more. The tinkling of metal across concrete punctuates the thick silence that August has trapped himself in. An accident, maybe it's nothing...

There's a throaty, foreign noise; one that draws a sudden, sharp pain from August as he feels his chest clench. The noise happens again, something drawn deep from within the figure working in the garage. A sputtering, wet quaking sound echoes in the small space, and August can feel his entire body go numb.

"Oh..." The voice is so small, so unlike the man he knows to be his father, and yet August can't stop his feet as he creeps around the boat to come closer. There's a string of muffled Italian, but the sounds are stifled and caught in between... August sees his father.

Sobs. His father is sobbing.

A long sniff, and Geppetto reaches up to wipe his eyes, his nose, his mouth, as he crouches down. His hands, covered in gloves that have no fingers any longer, try to scrape and scour the concrete. August blinks, his wooden eyes cloudy but he's not sure why. And he can't figure out why his father's crying so much either. He understands missing him, but...

Geppetto reaches under the table, then sits back up. In those calloused, abused hands, is a small wooden cuckoo bird.

Realization smacks him so hard his head spins.

The gear works of the cuckoo clock that meant so much to both of them has been vomited onto the garage floor, and his broken father is trying to pick them up with an urgency that shatters his heart.

Before he can stop himself, August is moving swiftly. In seconds, he has dropped down beside him, working to pick up the pieces with him. "H-Here, let me help..." August's voice has all but left him, thick with emotion, shy and uncertain like the first time he'd seen his father in Gold's shop with the same clock.

He looks up, and his father's eyes are locked onto the wooden hands assisting him.

Older hands, wrinkled and worn, quake as Geppetto sets down the bird in his hand. August swallows, but he can't seem to breathe. Time stands still as his father's careful, skilled hands reach out, fingers running along the smooth finish of the back of his son's hands.

"My boy?" Geppetto's whisper is almost missed the first time. But, then those fingers reach higher, then run up the long length of August's arms. August's face is a mask of shock, of fear, of raw trepidation and almost panic as his father's eyes climb higher and higher. Until they meet. "My... my boy..." The disbelief in his voice can only be matched by the desperate hope in his eyes. August tries not to buckle, but when Geppetto's hand reaches up, resting on his cheek, he shudders as he chokes back a sob. "My... _Pinocchio._"

August doesn't know why, but the word is out of his mouth before he can even comprehend what's happening. "Father."

"You're _home!_" Geppetto's relief is palpable, a broken sob as he suddenly pulls his son into a breathtaking hug, crushing and oppressive, desperate and all things fatherly, holding the man against him as if he was a young boy all over again. "My _son_..." He cries, and August is engulfed in the emotion.

"F-Father..." It's all he can choke out, but his arms are around him, holding him tight, and August's face disappears somewhere in his father's shoulder.

Tears are shed by both of them for incalculable minutes, and with each sob, one clutches harder to the other on the floor. August doesn't know how to prepare for this, he doesn't know how to handle what has been bubbling under the surface as he spent 28 years alone.

Geppetto finally pulls back, and August is startled to realize his own cheeks are wet. So, he _can_ cry. Geppetto's hands are on his face again, brushing those tears away. "_There_ you are..." He breathes, and August shudders again. "My clever boy..." Those words break them both again, and again, there is the embrace, the sobs, and the genuine wash of emotion encompassing joy and relief, raw and untempered without any of the other emotions August knows will be underneath.

He's not sure when, but eventually the sobs stop, and his knees are cold and feel raw, even though they're wooden. His limbs hurt, he feels weak all over again, but he doesn't want to let go.

But, they do have to part. When they do, August is at the ready with an apology. Realizing that he made his father hurt this badly, he doesn't know how to make it up to him, but he wants - he _needs_ to try. "Father, I am so sor-"

"My poor boy, can you ever forgive me?"

There's silence as August tries to take in what he's just heard. "I... what?"

"I am so sorry. I cannot possibly make it up to you," Geppetto's words are tumbling out faster than August can comprehend them, and it's all what he wants to say, wants to tell him. He wants to tell his father about how he let Emma down, that he wasn't strong enough, that he's like this because he didn't do what they asked of him, but he's still talking. "I should never have put that on you, my clever boy. You were so young, and this world is so _terrifying._"

"No," August's brow furrows as he tries to stop the man from taking on sins that aren't his own. At least, not to August. To August, the blame and responsibility has always been squarely on his own shoulders. He wasn't strong enough, he didn't think ahead, and he caused all of the hardship Emma faced. "No, this isn't possibly your fault. Please, stop, I don't want you blaming yourself-"

"But, _look at you._" Geppetto whimpers, and the raw emotion is pain and blame, directed at himself. August can't seem to erase it, even as his blue eyes search his father's face for a way to do that. "I should have protected you from this, and now? Now, I can't..." His father looks down, and in that moment, August understands.

He broke his father. He didn't do what he was supposed to, and his own father is weakened, carrying all of that weight and guilt.

"Father..." August whispers. His wooden hand reaches out, and he takes his father's rough hand into his own impossibly smooth one.

"I even broke the clock, Pinocchio..." Geppetto pleads, his free hand scooping up the cuckoo again. "I have let you down so much. How can I ever begin to earn your forgiveness?"

"Father, please..." August's other hand reaches for the cuckoo, and he meets his father's gaze once more. "You don't have to earn anything." August ignores his fatigue of too many nights spent in fitful, unsatisfying sleep outside. He ignores the way his arm throbs where the long shaving has marred the beautiful wood his father crafted him from.

Right now, he can't do anything else. August has done this to his father. And now...

"I promise you..." August whispers. "We can fix it."

_I can fix you. I failed. But, I need you._


	9. Own Little Corner

**Title:**Son of a Woodworker  
**Chapter Title: **Own Little Corner  
**Setting:**During 2x11 (_You KNOW when)  
_**Author's Note:**Hi, babes! Sorry for the delay, but as you know, I'm also trying to write Threading Pages and then I got attacked by a Princess Bride bug. So, y'know, LOL, I'm going to try to get this one done, too. That being said, please note that I have a story in mind, and I've slapped a slight AU sticker on this. Anyway, enjoy! I wanted to write this scene SO badly, and like many a Booth babe, I couldn't believe we didn't get to SEE IT! **Read, review, share, **if so inclined, but most of all, enjoy reading it!_  
_

* * *

_Because I, the town, __**everyone **__needs you!_

_I don't want them to need me!_

_Well, that's too bad, because we all do. _

_You're saying that I am responsible for everyone's happiness? That is __**crap! **__I didn't ask for that, I don't want that!_

_Right __**now**__. A while ago, you didn't want Henry either, but then he came to you and now you are fighting like __**hell**__ for him!_

_For __**him! **__Because that is __**all**__ I can handle right now! And I'm not even doing a good job of __**that! **__Now you're telling me I have to save __**everyone? **__That is __**beyond ridiculous**__, I don't want any of it! _

_Well, that's too bad, Emma. Because that doesn't change the truth. You're our only hope._

_Then you're all screwed._

Emma's footsteps falter as memories threaten to swallow her.

_How do I stop this?_

_Break the curse._

_I'll do it, I promise, but I gotta save Henry first and I need your help. _

She debates turning on her heel, running back to the loft apartment where the only thing she can equate to family resides. A small bastion of shelter in the storm.

_I can't do this, August. It's too big. No normal person can. _

Knowing that he's left Storybrooke doesn't stop the words from echoing through her ears. It doesn't stop her mind from conjuring the image of his skin as it glosses over; his scruff becomes grain in the wood, and the only man she's let herself get close to in years dies right in front of her.

_Yeah, well, if he were dead, he would've still been in his room, right?_ She reminds herself, and a surge of hurt, raw anger propels her forward, the kind of anger she's kept locked away for – of all people – Neal, the bastard who set her up and practically ruined her life, never bothering to look back.

Forget August. He's gone. He left, he is just like Neal, she tells herself. And she keeps walking.

But, she's walking towards Marco's house, and so every step is just another reminder that she knew his son, she _knew his son_, and chances are, he never even knew August was alive. And now he's lost his best friend as well.

Emma pauses at the door, swallowing and reaching up to pull her hair back a little more. She's stopped curling her hair since she returned from the Forest. Who the hell is she trying to impress, right? It makes her look a little more severe, a little more hardened…

A little more like she really _doesn't_ feel anything. Except a whole lot of confusion about her "family."

The door opens before she's even had a chance to knock, and suddenly, all the careful words she has to say, so she can just dance around the fact that she knows that his son is alive and probably so far away he doesn't remember his own name. She's been around addicts enough in life to know when someone has a problem: She just… well, it seemed like those days were behind August.

Emma hates being wrong.

"Your Ma… erm, ah, Miss – _Sheriff_ Swan," Marco staggers as he tries to find the right honorific he wants to place on her through red-rimmed eyes. Emma's cheeks burn as she tries not to let the second-hand embarrassment wash over her. Poor Marco's been trying to cope with the death of his best friend, not knowing where his son is, and here she is, coming over to see how he's doing. "I am… ah, not prepared for visitors." He stumbles, calloused fingers fumbling less than gracefully with his cap. "But, please, come in. Vieni."

And then he's ushering her in the door before she can even say why she's there, that she's sorry, the millions of sincere apologies she has all at the tip of her tongue that she can't seem to vocalize. She reaches up and pulls her scarf off from around her neck. She doesn't want to get too comfortable, but the flush through her body makes her hot and flushed, in an embarrassing, off-balanced way.

Emma doesn't talk about it, but she hates funerals.

Being a kid in the system, Emma has very little experience with funerals. But she's had her fair share of wondering if her parents were alive or dead, and if they were, did they have funerals? Were there other kids there to pay respects? Or did they die alone?

And then the few friends Emma remembers from her time as a thief, before Neal, are punctuated with friends who had problems. Big problems. "I-didn't-have-a-family-either" problems that sometimes – too many times – end with someone in a wooden box and Emma left alone all over again. If she reconsiders what hurt her the most about Graham's death isn't what she now knows, that Regina had done _something_ to kill him; it's that she'd considered letting herself go and she'd lost him _right there._ And then August…. See, there's a pattern here, and now that she's seen it, she just wants to go back to hiding in the loft, drinking hot cocoa and staring at the wall.

If she never sees another funeral, it will be too soon.

"What can I do for you, Sheriff? I expected you would be with your family on such a gloomy day." Marco is walking into his kitchen, busying himself with a clinking of ceramic that tells her there's about to be a tea kettle on the stove. Hot cocoa flits through her thoughts again but she shoves it aside and takes off her gloves, wanting to focus on why she's there.

"Actually, I wanted to check on you." Her voice sounds so much more casual than she feels, but maybe it's not casual, maybe it's just… she's sick of feeling. "I mean, Archie… you were very close – "

"He was my best friend. For a very long time." Marco sighs, but his throat closes and Emma feels another pang of regret. It's too soon, she shouldn't be here, and she knows that.

"I'm sorry. I sorta…" Emma's lower lip pouts out as she takes a seat at his kitchen table, watching him. "Suck at this whole… grief counseling thing. Not a lot of family experience…" Emma remembers how broken Henry was when she had to tell him, and now, looking at Marco, she can't fathom how she's supposed to help him move on. Especially when August…

"You try, piccola, that's all that matters." Marco suddenly sounds so vulnerable, and his tone reminds her a bit of how David's been talking to her since she got back. That odd mix of fatherly affection while an internal war as to what's appropriate. In the silence that follows, Emma's gaze reaches Marco's, and he realizes what he's called her, what he's done. He's stumbling again, reaching for the tea kettle, and Emma can hear herself waving away the apologies, but it doesn't seem to mean much. "I'm so sorry," He's saying, even as she shakes her head. "I had no right to address you so informally. It's just that, with Jiminy gone, and my boy – "

It isn't until she hears Pongo bark in the other room and start whining, scratching at a door in the hallway that she furrows her brow and glances up at the older man. "Pongo?" She calls as she gets up to go find the dog, and Marco is on her heels, a little too close for comfort.

"It's nothing," Marco reaches the dog first, shooing him away from a small room in the back of his home. Emma can see that there's a light on the other side, but that's not an indicator in itself. Why is Pongo scratching there so badly? Marco has a hold of Pongo's collar and steers the dog to the couch, where the old man sits and pets the animal. Emma's heart twists, her stomach writhes.

"You mentioned your boy." Emma immediately wishes she could grab the words right out of the air and unceremoniously shove them under the couch cushion she instead sits down on, across from Marco. But, well, it's Emma, so they're out now. She's said it, she has to commit to it, even if the very thought of asking him about August without blurting out the truth feels a bit like a hot coal in her stomach, turning slowly, eating at her. "I, uh… I guess you haven't heard from him?" Emma stops herself, trying to make sure she sounds casual but curious. And to reinforce the name that comes out of her mouth next. "Pinocchio."

Marco's eyes don't meet Emma's, instead focusing on giving more affection to Pongo, but she assumes it's the grief. She wants to hit herself for even daring to mention to this man who lost his best friend the name of his lost son. In fact, as she sits there, trying to think of something to break the silence, the tension, she's pinching the inside of her wrist, where she used to wear a small black band that August had given her on a whim.

"_I want you to have it."_

"_I'm not taking your stupid bracelet, Booth. It's creepy enough you just plopped down in front of me earlier and just Obi-Wan Kenobi'd some advice."_

"_I didn't think you were complaining about the advice. Just… c'mon, just take it. It's a good reminder to remember what I said. Think outside the box, don't let them see you coming."_

"My boy is… well…" Marco sighs. "When the time is right, I am sure I can come to you with news of his return, Sheriff." He pats Pongo's side as he finally forces himself to look back up at Emma. She can swear she sees something like guilt flicker across his features, her lie detector suddenly feels like it's going off at DEFCON 4 levels, but this is _Marco._ He's grieving. "How is your boy? How is Henry? He was very close to Jiminy, and… I imagine it is difficult as well."

Emma gives him a silently grateful look, even though she can't begin to explain why she's so relieved he changed the subject. "He doesn't want to eat, he doesn't want to talk. I'm actually kind of at a loss." Emma sighs and leans back, running a hand through her hair and looking at him sympathetically. "Any ideas on what I could do to cheer him up? This whole parenting thing is worlds away from normal for me, and… I'm not exactly… used to having parents myself."

Marco's expression shifts into something Emma thinks she might have seen on her own face. It's that look she gets when Henry asks her something and she _can_ help. "Well… when my boy was… _very_ young," Marco chuckles slightly, and from the way he looks up at the ceiling, she can tell he's fading into the memories of his life – his _other_ life. Geppetto's life. The shift between the two is much more subtle than Emma expects, really. "He had companions. Not other boys at the school. They chased him away, it was why he ran away in the first place. But, his first friends were my only companions. My cat, Figaro."

As if on cue, Emma hears a small jingle of a bell and a muffled _brrow_ from under the couch she's sitting on. She shifts, surprised, but Marco just laughs and motions for her to sit again. "Easy," He reassures. "He doesn't like Pongo, so he stays under the couch. But, I found him the first day the curse broke. He's been here all this time. Maybe that's the kind of thing Henry needs. A friend."

The idea is something different, it soothes the nerves in her stomach while also bringing up a few new issues. "Yeah, I mean, I think that's a great idea, Marco, but I don't know how Henry would feel about a cat – "

"Then take Pongo. For a little while."

The suggestion makes Emma's eyebrows dart up. "Really? I mean, a-are you sure? I don't want to take him if – "

"Sheriff, I am an old, _old_ man." Marco sighs, sympathy etching through his voice. "I have spent much of my very long life alone. I've Figaro to keep me company. This is not the first time I have lost others close to me." There's a sadness in his eyes that Emma, for just a second, feels like she recognizes in herself. Loss… deep loss, loss that defines you. "Please. Take him. Henry will enjoy seeing him."

To punctuate that, Marco stands and gets Pongo's leash from the coffee table, walking over and clipping it to his collar before handing it to Emma's shaking hand.

She swallows, and with all the kindness he's laying on her, she can't stop herself. "Marco, there's something I need to tell you." She whispers, and her eyes suddenly seem to be warm with emotion. He waits, expectant, kind, like a combination of grandfather and father she's never known…

But she can't do it.

She can't tell him his son is alive and _left_ town.

So, she swallows and does exactly what she screamed at August for.

_Sometimes we lie to protect the ones we love. _

"Just… thank you, Marco. You've been _so_ good to us. I'm so sorry for your loss." Emma pulls him into a sudden hug. It feels at once disjointed, awkward, and yet… comforting. _Right_. "You know, talking with you about Pinocchio…" She smiles a little, but it feels fake, forced. "I feel a little like I know him."

"Well, when I bring him to you finally, maybe I shall tell you more stories, eh?" Marco pats her shoulder and Emma pulls away, the close proximity foreign to her like so much else in this town.

It isn't until after she's out the door and walking down the street that she absently asks herself…

Did he already have two cups on the coffee table before she arrived?


	10. The Straight and Narrow

**Title:**Son of a Woodworker  
**Chapter Title: **The Straight and Narrow  
**Setting:**After 2x11

**Author's Note:**Hi, babes! Finally, my life is calming down a little so I can devote time to actually writing this, as the whole damn thing is outlined and sitting on my desktop going "Write meeeeee". In case you are curious, for those of you also reading Threading Pages, Threading Pages is _using Son of a Woodworker's continuity_ for season 2. So, events that occur here, you can safely say occurred in their past. Continuity. Within my continuity. In my fanon. *Fist pump* Anyway, enjoy this! I hope. I'm not happy with it. And it's been beta'd and I'm still not happy with it, so... ugh. BUT, I'm super-excited to write the next chapter, there's just something about this one that doesn't sit well. Do that whole **read, review** and basically make out with the page thing if that's what you're into. Thank you again to everyone's who been sticking with this fic! I just… my desire to fix canon is so strong. I don't NEED canon to survive, but y'know, I prefer my ships to not NEED fanon in order to even function because the show's forgotten what it's doing. *Sigh* Rant over! Enjoy!

* * *

Did he already have two cups on the coffee table before she arrived?

That's all that's occupied August's mind while he's had to endure the slow, heart-twisting torture of hearing Emma's voice, muffled through the fragile door of his father's spare bedroom. It's such a stupid, small, _careless_ thing, but it's all he can think about. His heart is pounding in his chest as he hears phrases filter through the walls. The last few days have been punctuated by tears, memories and long hours of silence, spent contemplating what his father needs and what August thinks he should do next.

Shame is a powerful tool, one August knows all too well, and so it's no surprise that he's taken refuge in this small room. The moment his father had tipped him off with a mention of the Sheriff by name, August had fled.

But, of course, all that does is leave him alone with his thoughts. Of his father… of his own failures… of _Archie_…

It had taken every bit of strength and emotional fortitude his father had to keep August in the house after he'd broken the news. All of August's thoughts have now been plagued by the last time he spoke to him, the fact that he snapped at him. He was hurt, he was lashing out, and Jiminy had just been trying to help. And he could've _saved_ him, if only he'd stayed a little longer. Even just the bits of conversation he hears between his father and Emma has August swallowing and trying desperately not to shed tears.

People get built up so much with distance and time. By the time Jiminy is taken from them, the statue of moral fiber and fond devotion has come toppling down with the force of an earthquake, leaving the wooden man shaking in his boots as if he's in the bowels of pleasure island again, a true jackass.

Panic makes August freeze as he hears Pongo start barking and scratching at the door to the spare room, but the moment passes as he hears his father's voice shoo the dog away. The conversation continues on the other side of the door, and August finds himself playing with one of his wooden wrist joints idly. He misses his bracelet… but, it's… not really the bracelet he misses, and he knows that.

"_Don't let them see you coming…"_ He'd told her. He wonders if she hates him now, the way Jiminy alluded to. He thinks he deserves it, but… he can't help but hope that she doesn't. Maybe he can still fix this.

August has been telling himself that he wouldn't fall into old habits, of running and hiding. He tells himself that he wished to be worthy of Emma's faith and trust before he sees her again, that the stars had been watching them. And he needs to make good on it. How many more people have to pay for the Queen to be satisfied? How many more people need to suffer from the curse and its aftermath because August failed in the _one _task his father assigned him, a task they haven't spoken of since that night in the garage?

"_I, uh… I guess you haven't heard from him?"_ Emma's question is barely audible. But, it's a noticeable change from discussing Jiminy. Wait, is she asking about… _"Pinocchio?"_

Oh god, she's asking about him.

His father's reply is almost completely missed as the blood rushes through his ears, but before he knows it, they're talking about his childhood and Henry and Figaro and Pongo and all August can think is that she's _asking_ about him.

She hasn't forgotten about him after all?

August has lived a pretty long life not giving a damn as to whether or not people remember him. He's never been one to care about anyone's opinions of his life, the choices he's made, even when he first came to Storybrooke. It hadn't been until he met Henry and Emma, started to think about what his life had been and what it was now… what it _could_ be… he wanted to be better. He didn't want to need to be saved.

He wants to save himself, but even so, knowing that she still thinks about him makes his stomach flip as he realizes that there's a possibility, very faint, but still there, that maybe Emma Swan hasn't completely written him out of her life. The months he spent in Storybrooke before the change finally happened, when he thought he had died, he'd started to feel something… very different for him.

See, that's the tricky thing about being easily forgotten – it's because he doesn't make connections and he doesn't miss people. Not even Neal, who he'd had a few more cursory conversations and check-ins with.

But, Emma he misses.

He misses the verbal sparring, he misses the way she always stares him down as if his wit isn't getting under her skin but her eyes and body language tell him that he is _definitely_ getting there.

He had come to Storybrooke with one purpose: break the curse. And along the way, he'd picked up a few secondary, bonus objectives: 1) Send Neal that postcard, because August's failure to watch Emma cost her more than he realized at the time, 2) Help Emma get her kid, since, initially, he didn't want to get in the middle of that adorable kid's problems with both mothers, and yet, towards the end there, he was willing to backburner Emma's desire to reunite with her son. Not his best moment.

August's list of objectives seem to have been accomplished. He sent the postcard to Neal, and now… now he knows Emma's got Henry, and the kid's safe.

So, why does August feel like, even with his father, there's something missing? And why does the very idea that he sent that postcard to Neal still scare the daylights out of him?

Why was he so sure that the moment she and Snow White disappeared that she was _still_ okay? That he'd just _know_ if she was really gone for good?

He knows the answer.

But he's not ready to admit it. At least, not to her. Himself, well, he's _exceptional_ at lying to himself.

So, when he hears Emma open the door and leave, it's that uncertainty combined with the absolute shame over his appearance that stops him from saying 'screw it' and going after her.

The rest of the evening passes with August fidgety and more nervous than his father's ever seen him. Of course, a good chunk of their time together has been spent learning how each other acts now. There are little things that August is sure, inherently, he should know. It's his _father_. But, there are new things now, things he never noticed as a child that he notices because he's adult.

His father's not a young man. His father has demons and whatever those demons are, they plague him well into the evening as the two of them finally settle in the living room with curtains drawn closed.

He tries to start a conversation several times, but every time he opens his mouth, August suddenly feels like a child all over again. Where does he even start? They've talked about his life in Storybrooke, August has made a few off-hand remarks about travelling, and he has made it strikingly clear that he's not ready to talk about Emma or _to_ Emma and he has begged his father to keep him hidden.

It's a cowardly move. He feels like… like he's backsliding, but…

Emma doesn't need him. No one seems to need him.

Except Archie, and look how that turned out. If he'd just stayed there for a few more minutes, he might be alive –

Another knock at the door sends a bolt of fear and trepidation through him. His perfectly circled irises look to his father for guidance, and the old man rises to go to the door, motioning for August to stay put. Given how the night has fallen, he can easily just tell any visitor he doesn't want to see anyone...

"Hey..."

_Archie._

"Hello, Geppetto."

_The Blue Fairy. _

August's entire body feels as though he's taken an ice bath, but somehow, he manages to stand and make it to the doorway in time to see his father's knees shake, threaten to give out. Not sure how he pulls it off, he manages to catch his dad as he swoons, eyes wide with shock and amazement. Sure enough, Archie's standing _right_ there, looking worse for wear, but very much alive. And the Blue Fairy... suddenly, shame has come rushing back above any relief he might have felt.

"Father!" August gasps as Marco's legs actually do give and they both collapse into a heap on the floor, albeit slowly and almost comically.

"Geppetto!" Archie and Blue have somehow managed to close the door and are on either side of the two men. August isn't sure what to make of it, the sudden rush of people and he's too worried, trying to make sure his father doesn't completely pass out when suddenly, Geppetto's hands are grappling for the individuals around him.

"Oh, this is a miracle!" Geppetto laughs. He _laughs_, and it's like those demons that have been weighing on him all day fall away just for one moment. The laughter is thick from tears, but there are firm embraces and his father is shaking and for just a few seconds, the shock and grief of the day have completely given way to outright joy.

It's not until he feels Blue's hand on his arm, her fingers almost drifting onto the long, marred gash in the pristine wood that he remembers...

This is the closest thing he has to a family... and he doesn't deserve it.

They might be whole, but he isn't.

He feels like he's drowning. Before he can stop himself, August is scrambling to his feet like the ungainly boy he feels like on the inside, all wooden clacks and creaks. He can hear his father asking for him, but August keeps moving. He stumbles his way into the spare room that had been his prison only a few hours before, and now it feels like the only small haven he has in the storm.

He shuts the door with a final slam and before he knows it, he's in the corner of the bed, curled up and trying to grapple with the sense of utter worthlessness that has consumed him. It's a panicked reaction, akin to a child, and he _knows_ it.

But, it's too many people who have all seen him, who know what he's done to himself, and he just wants it to go away.

The thought crosses his mind…

His fingers press at the inside of his elbow absently as his stomach rolls uncomfortably.

"August?" The Blue Fairy's quiet, concerned tone forces August's hand away from his elbow, the fingers drifting down to the gash that he's been hiding under layers since Gold took more than just a shaving of wood from him, but also his pride. He steals a glance at the door as the woman the whole town had once known just as the Mother Superior slowly pushes the door open enough to slip inside.

He tenses, and his eyes immediately search over her shoulder. He just doesn't… he _can't_ see his father. He really wants a few moments alone, but now she's in here, and she can see how he hasn't changed, he's done _nothing_ to fix himself, and he couldn't even save Emma.

She'd warned him not to go to Gold…

The moment she closes the door behind her, August tears his eyes away from that vacant spot over her shoulder and tries to focus on her.

"I told your father that he and Jiminy should sit and talk." She says, and in that tone of voice, August finds himself calming down already, even though he still wants to bolt. "Jiminy said that you went to see your father. I'm glad you've been with him, I'm sure he's needed you."

August doesn't reply, and when she makes a move to sit beside him on the bed, he sits up considerably, not sure how to curb the shame that's making his throat close. He can lie like a rug, but… around her, around his father, around Jiminy, he just…

August doesn't want to keep lying. He did that for ten years and he really _is_ capable of change. He wants to be.

"What's wrong, August?" Her question is sincere, but it's all he needs to be reminded that he's _not_ doing what he set out to. That when he spoke to the Blue Fairy last, he'd had plans, he… he was supposed to bring Emma back. Be a hero, just for a second.

August glances up at her with a mixture of deadpan annoyance and shame, simply motioning to the image before her. "Look at me. You really think I deserve to be anywhere near them? Near _anyone_?"

She sighs and her hand moves to touch his arm. He's not used to having a maternal figure in his life, and the Blue Fairy is the closest one he's got. And at once, he wants to recoil and retreat, but he can't bring himself to pull away when her fingers warm his wrist. "August…" The fact that she uses the name he's known far longer than the one his father gave him is a bit of a comfort, it makes his heart slowly stop pounding. "You need to stop being so ashamed of yourself. I told you, you father and I, we gave you a task, a responsibility that should never have been placed on someone so young. But, you've tried your best, you've done so much to help everyone– "

"What _exactly_ have I done that has helped _anybody?_" Thoughts of a case of watches in Neal's hands flicker through his mind. Booze, junk, women, playing cards and roulette tables tumble right after. It's just like the monastery, only this time, he doesn't even have some sort of redemption in mind. "I mean, _look_ at me. I am a physical manifestation of my failures! To protect Emma, to help break the curse, hell, I couldn't even get Emma back from the Forest when she needed me. If I thought for two seconds that I was _worthy_ of magic, I'd be on my knees begging you to fix this, but – "

"August, you are what you are because of the choices you've made." Her tone isn't cruel, it's matter-of-fact and… profoundly sad. As if she's already given up on him. It takes the wind out of August's already deflating sails, and he glances over at her with a raw mix of horror and guilt.

She's saying she can't do anything.

August knows now.

He did this to himself and he truly is beyond saving. He glances down at his hands, watching the joints as he flexes his fingers. "So, there's nothing you can do…" He mutters, even though he knows the answer and he isn't sure he would take any assistance if he could. "And there's really nothing _I_ can do, either." He sighs, surprisingly calm even though it feels like his heart is slowly splintering. "I've… I failed." His voice is light, matter-of-fact, resigned. "I haven't done anything for Emma, for my father, for _anyone_."

"No, don't say that." The Blue Fairy shifts beside him, to face him, but instead of meeting her gaze, his eyes lock firmly onto the way his shirt sleeve is caught on his marred arm. "August, the rules I set for you were very specific, but… there is no way you could have compensated for this world. Not without your family. You just…" She pats his wrist gently. "You have to find a way to move on. You can grow from this, I am sure you can."

August is less than sympathetic or receptive for her words of wisdom. They feel false, they feel like platitudes and he wants nothing of it. He shakes his head and shifts again, pulling away. "Thank you, but I'd rather just…" He stops himself before he says something he'll regret – as per usual.

All it does is pull the warmth that he was trying to ignore, not let unnerve him, away as she stands up. "Rather what?"

August glances up at her, those perfectly blue eyes of him painted in perfect orbs. He doesn't have to think about it, he knows he's an aesthetically symmetric piece of craftsmanship, but, that's the problem now, isn't it? "I'd rather just be left alone."

The Blue Fairy nods, and she keeps that serene but concerned look on her face even while August is fairly certain she's two seconds from telling him how disappointed she is in him. "All right. I'll let your father know. But… August, for what it's worth…" She makes her way to the door, then stops, turning to look at him once more. No, not him in general, his arm. "Even if I had the magic to do it, I couldn't do anything with you right now. You're not whole. And you can feel it, can't you?" She swallows as silence descends, but August doesn't know how to answer her. He doesn't want to let on that Gold's damage is the result of his own hubris. Another poor choice in a laundry list. "August… whatever you've done, it's done. It's finished. You can only look forward now."

Thankfully for her, the door is closed before he can fire back some defensive remark that he knows he'd regret in the morning.

So, he's alone with his thoughts.

He has to look forward. His eyes drop down to the gash on his arm.

Maybe it's a glimmer of hope, maybe it's the frustration of how useless he feels, but August knows what he has to do now.

Forget the Blue Fairy. _He_ has to save himself.

August grabs for his phone. He isn't sure how he really manages to dial, as he's surprisingly nervous, but by the time the voice picks up on the other line, he's steady again. He has a purpose.

He has to save himself.

"Mister Gold. I'll be stopping by tomorrow. We have business to discuss."


	11. Right Product, Wrong Currency

**Title: **Son of a Woodworker  
**Chapter Title: **Right Product, Wrong Currency

* * *

**Setting: **During 2x12, just prior to Gold's visit to the Charmings  
**Author's Note: **Hi, babes! I am honestly surprised I still want to write this. I love August, I just am so disgusted with the actual show it's more and more difficult to find the inspiration to work on this. But I really want to finish this and Threading Pages before the muses leave me entirely (although, it's entirely possible I'll take a break to work on Roads We Take and suddenly get smacked by August feels and write a chapter) so I am trying to force myself through the anger and disappointment to tell the story I would have much rather seen. SO, enough talk! You want the chapter! It is below! THANK YOU, WOODEN SWAN WEEK! ALL THE AUGUST FEELS. I really, REALLY wanted to write this chapter, and I'm so happy it's here! DID I MENTION THAT THIS CHAPTER AND THE NEXT HURT. **Read, review, tell a friend** if that's your thing, and above all, enjoy the chapter! Viva August W. Booth!

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"We have business to discuss, do we, Mister Booth?" Gold's voice sends a chill down August's wooden spine even as he slips in through the back door of the shop. Rumplestiltskin isn't all mirth; there's a dark edge to his voice that immediately makes August wonder if this is the best idea. It hasn't shaken his new sense of clarity that the only way to be saved is to do it himself, but it might not be the best time to confront the one man who might have the power to do it.

"That we do." August replies, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket; grounding him in a simple gesture he's come to associate with closing himself off. He steps forward and watches Gold as he flips the sign to the store, closing it for what August hopes will be the remainder of the day. He hopes because he has to think that he can convince Gold to be a man of honor.

That dark amusement that greets him as Gold faces him, resting both hands on the handle of his cane, makes August think hope might have not been the right motivation to propel him here today. "Well, well, well…" Gold smirks, surveying August as if he's looking to buy a new suit. "What can I do for the boy with kaleidoscope eyes?"

August is fairly certain that if his cheeks could flush with embarrassment at Gold's sneer about his painted, artistically perfect eyes, they would. Doesn't stop him from looking anywhere but Gold's direction while he tries to recover from being thrown off of his game so early. August has dealt with gamblers, mobsters, thugs, swindlers and con artists, but he is never ready to tangle with his childhood nightmare. He had spent months gauging this town and its people, but he had always actively avoided Gold – until he couldn't. And he knows why. There are few faces that he remembers from his childhood, but the mottled, dark green of Rumpelstiltskin's, combined with the frighteningly beautiful visage of the Queen Regina, had been the fuel for his night terrors in the cold as an urchin on the streets.

But he can't let that stop him now. He's been running and hiding. He keeps trying to do better, then he backslides. He _won't_ do that now.

"I believe you have something of mine, and I think it's time you gave it back." August sounds smooth and relaxed, as casual as if he was asking Ruby for a cup of coffee. In reality, he's hoping his knees don't start audibly shaking, even as he gives the impression that Gold doesn't frighten him in the slightest.

"Oh?" Rumpelstiltskin's breathy question is more mocking than curious, just like every other time they've been in this situation, standing off, seemingly with a common goal in mind. At least, August had thought they had a goal in common when Emma and Mary Margaret had dropped through a portal into the Enchanted Forest. Standing here now, though, August finds himself more convinced that he has misjudged Gold from the start.

"We had a deal." August begins, and he can feel himself slipping into the same easy pattern of behavior he used to fleece many a mark and win many a poker game. "I gave you a..." He stalls slightly, the distasteful reality rolling around his wooden tongue unpleasantly. "A _part_ of me, and you would use it to help get Emma and Mary Margaret back." Gold doesn't move, but August knows he has his full attention from the way he's tapping his cane gently on the hardwood floor and that curious, quizzical expression is still on his face. "Clearly, you didn't need it, so now I want it back."

August hasn't slept all night. He's been too busy replaying how this could go in his head over and over again. All the ways Gold could say no, all the ways he might say yes, it's all been spinning like spiders in his head, little webs of stories and lies.

He's not expecting what he gets.

"Why?"

Gold's question catches him off-guard, oddly enough. August knows the answer, but, he honestly hadn't expected Rumpelstiltskin to be interested in why he wants it back. "Excuse me?"

Gold takes a few steps closer, that cane a menacing punctuation to his gait. The man stands level with August, and yet suddenly he is a child, seven years old and wandering the dungeons of the King and Queen's castle. For some reason, the whale his father carved for him clanging against the bars of a dark cell flicker through his mind as a little boy wanders where he shouldn't, and August buckles, blinking stupidly as Gold regards him. "_Why_ would I want to give that back, Mister Booth?" The voice is lethal, low, measured, and, August realizes, very aware that he has the power to destroy the person in front of him. "As far as I am concerned," Gold hisses, and August is acutely reminded of a night weeks ago, caught between a blade at his throat and the trunk of a tree while his life is threatened. "You tried to control me, and you probably would've tried to kill me. And then, you came to me _begging_ for my magic, _which_, as you know, isn't exactly in infinite supply here." August doesn't budge, he manages to hold his ground, but he feels that childhood fear of the Dark One threatening to truly overwhelm him like that very night where he had found the dagger. Gold continues, relentlessly threatening and practically gleeful of the power he has. "I gave you absolutely no guarantees, and well, since you once possessed something that could theoretically have power over me now, then I see no reason why I should give up such an advantage over you."

Silence falls between them, and August's bright eyes scan Gold's features, thankful for what limited emotion he can display for a change. Gold might detect fear, but August truly feels terror striking him to the core.

Rumpelstiltskin has a part of him. And he thinks he can _control_ him.

August has grown up his entire life trying to shake the notion that he was once just a puppet on a shelf, brought to life by the love of his father. This last year has hammered home the notion that magic is his true lifeline, and without it, he is nothing. He's not _real_.

Insecurity skitters up his spine and spills over his shoulders, and August almost shivers, wanting to will away the visceral emotions that are borne of nightmares and nights spent on the street, only recalling the horrible darkness of his early years, ignoring the love he had.

It takes August a moment to realize that Gold is still staring him down. His eyebrow has quirked. He's waiting for an answer.

August swallows. He had wanted to appeal to Gold's sense of honor, but that's not going to work. He'll have to think of something else. "I need that back. I can't become normal again until I'm _whole_."

Gold smirks, he _smirks_, and takes a step back, chuckling softly. "Yeah, I'm afraid I don't see much of a benefit for me here. Who knows what I could do if I hold onto that shaving? Like this, Mister Booth, you're far too easy to control. You are an open book for anyone to read." He casts a glance back over his shoulder, and for just a moment, August sees the copper face that he remembers from the past. "All they need to know is the language."

For just a second, a terrifying, bone-chilling split-second, August braces himself. He expects a wave of the hand, or a flicker of fire, and for Gold to make good on his threat.

But, that second passes and all the other man does is make his way behind his counter and rest against it casually, as if opening up negotiations and not threatening his life.

"There is perhaps, one way I might consider helping you." Gold's expression, his tone, beckons August closer to the counter, but he remains firmly rooted in his spot. "While you've been out there hiding from all your problems, I've been facing mine head-on. And I've found a way to leave Storybrooke - "

"What?" August's interjection is rolled right over as Gold keeps speaking.

"Without losing my precious memories. It's already cost me someone I care dearly for, so when I leave here, I cannot afford any other..." Gold's jaw sets, and for just a moment, there's a flicker of darkness, a sorrow, maybe? And then it's gone. "Hiccups. But, a man as well-traveled as yourself, I imagine he has resources I do not. You provide me with information I need, I might ruminate over the notion of giving you back that careless shaving you left here."

August's heart thumps a little louder in his chest, a heart that he's not sure is wooden or just a magical phantom. "I'm listening." Caution colors his voice, but he still takes a step closer, lured by the prize of his humanity once more.

"I'll not only give you back the shaving, but I'll do one better." Rumpelstiltskin smiles, something closer to what he'd seen of Gold before he'd revealed his identity. "Your Blue Fairy might not be able to make you human, given that she's begging for this shaving, but I could. And not only that, I could make it so you never turn back."

August feels a pang of desire and loss so profound that he actually gives away a tell, his jaw going a little slack as he lets out a deep breath, clearly enticed by the offer. Gold smiles, cold and reptilian.

"I see I have your attention." He chuckles, standing straight once more to truly look August in the eye. "All I need is one thing."

"Name it." August replies, faster, more eager than he means to. The call of real flesh and blood, skin, bones, hair, all of it, is too strong to fight. He has to know. He has too little to offer Gold.

"You knew details about me that no one but my _son_ knows." There's that menacing edge once more, and even as he's speaking, August can see the net he's caught himself in. "So, you tell me how you know my son and where to find him, and I'll restore you when I return."

"You're looking for Baelfire..." August's slight surprise at that notion, as well as genuine shock and awe at the very idea that Gold might possibly be telling him the truth, with a legitimate deal, has him stunned. "And you think I can help you."

"I know you can." Rumpelstiltskin has turned casual conversation into an artform with a brogue and a threat all rolled into one melodic sentence. August has known he's been outclassed when it happens. Typically, he isn't level-headed enough to keep his mouth shut when it comes to battles of wits, but if there's one thing he can thank Emma for, it's that he's begun to hone that particular skill. So, he keeps his mouth shut, but Gold's offer is rolling around in his head all too pleasantly. "I want to reconcile with him, a..." Gold clicks his tongue, perturbed. "An occasion you took advantage of. The least you could do is tell me who Baelfire is, where I can find him, and how he's doing. I believe he is in New York City, but I'll need more details in order to track him down. It's not exactly a small city, is it now?"

"How do you know he's in the city?" The moment the words have left August's lips, he wishes he could grab them right out of the air and shove them back in. Gold's caught it, Gold realizes that August has the information he's seeking.

"Ah, I thought you would be the right person to talk to about this, and clearly, I'm right." There's a scraping of wood and metal, and a worn, grey box is set upon the glass countertop with ease. August can't recall seeing it before, but from the easy way Gold unlocks it and flips open the top, he clearly knows where everything goes and what purpose each item has.

And that's when he sees Gold's slender, graceful fingers pull free the long, flat shaving from August's arm and hold it up to the light of his lamp, looking it over. "Beautiful cut of wood your father used," Gold mutters, as if appraising one of his many antiquities in this shop. "And to think, the stories about you say you were cut from a bad piece of wood." His eyes flick from the shaving over to August. "Maybe it's a matter of rearing that's the problem."

August's anger suddenly surges from the center of that fear and trepidation. It takes all he has to get a handle on it, but his jaw sets nonetheless, and he strides closer to the counter. "Leave my father out of this. He did the best he could for me, and you are not going to tell me otherwise." August reaches for the shaving, hoping to move the conversation along, to avoid the request Gold has.

But, he's not fast enough. Gold flips the shaving away from August's wanting fingertips and sets it back in the box, closing the lid with a resounding, final crack. "Ah-ah-ah, what part of

I've given a proposition' don't you understand?" Gold scoffs and sets the box back under the counter and officially out of August's reach, much to his chagrin. "And believe me, Mister Booth, I know just how bad a father yours was. I also made the mistake of leaving my son in a world he didn't understand. You've given yours the chance to be forgiven." August swallows as Gold's words weave around his mind, reminding him that the reconciliation between him and his father has felt so one-sided, but that the old man has expressed mountains of guilt over what had happened. "Don't you think I deserve the same?"

August wants to say he's not considering the offer. He wants to say that Neal's words, reminding him that if Emma breaks the curse, that means Gold will go looking for him, have already made the decision for him. He wants to say that August has committed enough sins against Emma that he doesn't need to screw things up for Emma even more by sending Gold after him. If Neal comes back to Storybrooke with his father...

August knows what that will mean.

Henry's father... Emma's co-conspirator that she was willing to throw everything away for...

August wishes he wasn't considering it.

_Why lie about where you found me?_

_I lied to protect you._

_From what?_

_I was supposed to be there for you. And I wasn't._

August's own words remind him just what he's cost Emma. Twenty seven years of her life spent alone, because he couldn't be bothered to stay with her. And because the _one_ thing he's good at, the _one_ skill he has above all others, is the same skill that has secured that she will _never_ trust him.

But that doesn't mean he has to betray her again. And by betraying Neal, that is exactly what he's doing. If Neal finds her, it would be his own doing. Gold is not who that man wants.

"Sorry." August says softly, taking one step back, then another, each growing heavier. "No deal."

Gold's smile falls. August wants to savor that moment, but he's too focused on the fact that he's kissing away any chance of becoming who he used to be. The Blue Fairy's words haunt him even as he keeps slowly making his way towards the back of the shop and Gold pursues him with a sneer. He isn't whole. He'll never be a real man again.

But he just can't do it. Not this time. Emma's paid enough. He won't take that from her, too. He won't set Gold on his own son just for the possibility that he isn't lying.

"I strongly urge you to reconsider." The r's roll in each word, Gold's patience has been exhausted, but he keeps moving.

"You know what? My dad might not have done his best, hell, _I_ am a monumental screw-up." August stops just for a moment, his conviction supporting him as he faces his nightmare. "But I will never forgive myself for sending your son back to you. You don't know who he is, the choices he's made, and I made a promise. Just this _once_, I am going to do my damndest to keep it."

August doesn't wait for a response. He turns and stumbles out the back door, footsteps pounding on gravel as he tries to get away from the spider's web as fast as he can.

And with it, he knows he's kissing his last chance at becoming a real man goodbye.

He has to face that. He isn't whole.

So much for August W. Booth. Some guardian angel.


	12. A Mother's Love

**Title: **Son of a Woodworker  
**Chapter Title: **A Mother's Love

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**Setting: **During 2x13  
**Author's Note: **Wooden Swan week! Honestly, it's lit a fire under me so I am going to try to write as many chapters as I can this week, and I will post them as I can. If they fit a WS week theme, yay! If not, I will post the chapters once we're past it! I can tell you that the end of this whole fic would've been awesome to put out on Friday, but obviously, I am not there yet. Soooo, enjoy! Every day can be Wooden Swan day! I am... so over this show, I'm floating on a raft of AU now, it's kind of nice. Also, I hope you guys liked the last chapter. Can I JUST SAY that Gold is FREAKING TERRIFYING AND I LOVE IT. I love writing him like the truly cunning villain he is. Unf. Also. Warning. This next chapter? It's gonna hurt. I mean, a lot. I am trying to mad dash to get to the end of this fic, but sadly, I still can't make it happen in time for WS Week, but I will definitely try. Also, this chapter is much shorter than what you've been seeing, but it's because the episode Tiny really had nothing to do with anything, and I don't want to give away the good stuff here, so for the sake of keeping the tension, this is a shorter chapter. It's also why you're gonna get another chapter, like, in two days, since I'm back to writing these quicker. LOL. **Read, review, tell a friend** if that's your thing, and above all, enjoy the chapter! Viva August W. Booth! Viva Wooden Swan!

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Some guardian angel, she thinks sardonically, as she stares up at the statue of the avenging Michael in the courtyard of the Convent. Her blue robes clutch to her uncomfortably, strangling and confining on a day when she wishes for freedom. With her auburn hair in a bun appropriate for the Mother Superior, she has walked each path of this place until she finally rested here.

There seems to be so little justice when her child is suffering, and this place of false idols that are _not_ from the Enchanted Forest brings her no comfort.

Magic is the religion of the Forest, and she feels herself straining to maintain that connection that, since leaving that land of Enchantment, has been just out of reach. What minor conjurings she can create are far from the miracles of magic she once helmed. She can be better, a greater asset to her child. And, it's desperation to protect her child that has her here, in this convent.

"Mother Superior..." A breathless, desperate voice catches her attention, and she turns, eyes surveying the unusual sight before her. It's certainly not what she expects. "I'm sorry, I know, you said not to come during the daytime, but have you seen Emma?" He's out of breath - a feat for a wooden man, and she struggles to call him the identity he's crafted with leather and motorcycle oil.

"August..." The name sounds unfamiliar on her lips, but she pays it no mind. Instead, her brow furrows in concern. "No, I haven't. What's wrong?"

"Dammit," He hisses, apparently ignorant of his setting. Not that she is upset, either. "I'm sorry. It's just..." His pants finally subside as she waits, all too patient for her own liking, but she knows whatever he has to say, it's important and has him in such a state. "I was going to see her, tell her about magic bringing me back like this. I mean, I know," He sounds a little sorry for himself, but at the same time, convinced of his intentions. It's curious. "I'm Pinocchio, my whole _life_ has been about lying, but just this _once_, I have to tell her the truth."

"The truth?" She questions, taking a step closer to him, hands tucked together in front of her. "About what?"

"Look, I should've told you, too. When you came to visit." He swallows visibly, and hands shrouded in leather gloves reach up to scrub at his mahogany face. "God, I am so _stupid._ When Emma and Snow White were dropped into the Enchanted Forest, I gave Rumpelstiltskin a shaving, off my arm." To emphasize the point, August reaches down and pushes back the leather of his jacket up to his elbow, shoving the black shirt underneath up as well, showing off a marred, jagged, rough scar in the wood. She frowns, her expression reflecting sympathy for the wound, even as she finds herself wondering how he could possibly have been so foolish as to give a part of himself to the Dark One. "He told me he would use it to help them, and he _didn't_. He kept it, and he just tried to bribe me for information about his son in order to get it back." August is shaking his head, desperate, sounding as guilt-ridden as can be, and she can't help but feel a little pang of sympathy for him. "I was going to go tell Emma anyway, but I think she's..." August's voice trails off, as if he's lost his gusto, and in its place is simply fear and concern. "Gone. I think Gold took her. And Henry. I just happened to overhear Jiminy talking about it, and now..." August leans against the stone railing in the courtyard, shoulders slumped, fading fast. "I can't even tell her what happened to me."

He doesn't continue. Instead, he slumps down to the ground, staring at the wall ahead of him, one leg still bent at the knee, his exposed arm resting atop of his kneecap. She's never seen the damage Rumpelstiltskin did to him, and she finds herself drawn to examine it.

"I thought... maybe I could do it. Maybe I could save myself, but... I'm wrong." His unnaturally perfect eyes meet hers, and she swallows, standing straighter, wanting to present the Blue Fairy he clearly still looks up to. He doesn't see the woman underneath, and he doesn't need to. "I can't do it... If it means betraying Baelfire, even when you trusted me with that knowledge, I just... I can't. I can't ruin Emma's life, not again. I took him from her once, to get her on the right track, but she'll never forgive me if I send that monster after a son who literally jumped worlds to get away from him. She deserves better."

Emma. His concern for Emma has driven him to give up, to pull away from the offer that the Dark One provided.

She sighs after a long moment, her mind turning as she contemplates what this means for the long run.

"Perhaps I misjudged you." She says softly. There must be a note of hope or sympathy in her voice, because it's enough to make him scramble back to his feet, ignorant of how tired he is. She waits until he's standing, facing her, ready to implore her for what she can tell is at the tip of his tongue. And then she tells him what he _needs_ to hear. "I thought you were strong enough to handle your own problems, August. I thought you could do this, if you just had enough incentive. Instead," She shakes her head. "Rumpelstiltskin can control you. _Anyone_ could control you."

She can see the way his wooden heart beats faster, thumping in his chest loud enough to even invite the Queen of Hearts to come after him. "No... I... I did what was best for Emma - "

"Of course, because _you_ are _not_ good for Emma. In fact, being like this is probably the best gift you could ever give her." There's no malice in what she says, only stark honesty, brutal and cutting. August blinks, almost like he doesn't believe her, so she presses forward. "You're a _coward_, August. This is _your_ responsibility, and I cannot help you. You have everything, and it is _your_ fault that you trusted Gold. Didn't I warn you?"

"Yes, but, I thought - "

"Thought what? That after countless mistakes you would somehow be forgiven? Do you think she will trust you? You said it yourself: you _ruined her life_."

Magic is the religion of the Forest. She can feel his prayers in the way his heart is wounded. He hasn't asked, but she can sense the unspoken prayer: _Fix it. Fix me. Fix her. Forgive me. Make her forgive me_.

"I'm sorry, August, but you've failed. There's nothing I can do for you now." She purses her lips, furrows her brow, sympathy and sorrow coloring her features as he looks at her. "In fact, you'd probably do more good if you weren't here at all. I don't know how I could tell your father what you've done." She shakes her head slowly once more. "I thought you could do this, but... clearly, you were not up to the task."

His heart beats a little more brokenly, and he steps back. She's never seen a wooden man cry, but she sees something wet and slick streak down his cheek, past the painted beard. "Why would you say that?"

"Oh, August..." She sighs, shrugging a little. "Because it's true."

She can't imagine what's going through his head as he turns and bolts to parts unknown.

Well, unknown to someone who doesn't know what the sound of a wooden heart is. As he disappears, she takes a deep breath and sheds the glamour, this careful replica of the Mother Superior, inside with the rest of her revolting fairies.

She walks up to the statue of Michael, rolling her shoulders as she unfurls her black parasol from the ether, opening it and setting it over her shoulder.

"I believe they call you the one who stands up for the children of your people." She smiles, and a dark chuckle escapes her red lips as she rests her hand on the foot of the statue. "I'm sure you understand, then. I'm only protecting my child."

Her footsteps leave the vicinity of the statue, and her smile grows as she hears the crumbling of the decade-old stone statue. As she passes the fountain in the center of the courtyard, Cora glances down into the water and sees her reflection confidently staring back at her.

Curious man, this August. She has had to learn much of this town, but he had been a mystery. Her daughter has mentioned his entanglements with Emma Swan in the past, but there was an impression he was gone, had left. Suddenly, it makes sense, as the rumored puppet son of the woodworker is suddenly walking around the town.

As the Queen of Hearts, much of what occurred in the Enchanted Forest while she was gone was unknown to her, but the fairies here. They gossip. They spew information to waiting ears, and it has been ridiculously easy to infiltrate them. And now, thanks to them, and thanks to the Blue Fairy's attachment to this wooden man, Cora can see the plan as it takes formation in her mind.

Magic is the religion of the forest.

And she enjoys the bleeding prayers of a broken wooden man.

The pain is palpable, a throbbing in his heart that radiates all the way back to the convent. He hopes Emma will forgive him, but he knows she won't.

And why would she? Who on earth could love such a liar?

Love is the ultimate weakness. This she knows all too well. And most of all, when you don't realize that's what you're feeling.


	13. Somewhere Along In the Bitterness

**Title: **Son of a Woodworker  
**Chapter Title: **Somewhere Along In the Bitterness

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**Setting: **During 2x14

**Author's Note: **Hi. Don't hate me. I WARNED YOU IT WOULD HURT. I know, I'm so mean, but I promise, there is a light at the end of the tunnel, it just... it keeps hurting for a while. I'm going to keep stabbing that wound. But, as you can tell, I am beginning the push towards the circumstances that lead to August being in that trailer in 2x18, and those circumstances aren't "I just hid for 18 episodes because I have nothing better to do." Same goes for Emma, I'm having to steer things with her and Neal in a more realistic way. I really hated how they've been handled, because there should be way more baggage to carry here. ANYWAY. Enough talk, you want this chapter! I can feel you want this chapter, because this is important. Also, the idea for how to write this chapter came from "How to Save A Life", which is the song prompt for Wednesday, and, yeah... *sigh* **Read, review, tell a friend** if that's your thing, and above all, enjoy the chapter! Viva August W. Booth! Viva Wooden Swan!

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Love is the ultimate weakness. This she knows all too well. And most of all, when you don't realize that's what you're feeling.

"You left me." Emma is almost 100% certain that this is what Cora meant when she shoved her hand into her chest and told her love was weakness. But, Emma tries to turn it to strength again. She has to. It's the only way she'll avoid screaming with rage. "And you let me go to prison... because _Pinocchio_ told you to?"

She figures August has plenty to feel guilty about, given the way he'd unloaded on her that night in the woods, the way he'd been there for her, trying to help her whenever he could, even helping to break into Regina's garage. But, this. _This_.

It's a new low, and yet at the same time, as she stares at the drink in front of her after having spent a half hour trying to talk to the scumbag across the bar from her... Emma's words of disdain for Neal keep quietly reminding her that the exact reasons she thought Neal left her were _exactly why August wanted him gone._

"I loved you." Emma snaps, staring at a man that she _loved_ - in fact, it took her way too long to figure that out and put those feelings to bed, but with no resolution, they were never really going to go away.

Neal stutters and stumbles, and there's something about how he was trying to help her, and she knows she's snapping back at him, and then he's snapping back, but the words coming out of Emma's mouth aren't nearly as important to her as the fact that if there is _one_ person who is proof to her that loving someone is a _horrible_ idea, that they just _leave_ and they're _selfish,_ he's sitting right in front of her. He's spouting crap about how maybe they were always supposed to meet, because something about breaking the curse, and she holds her hands up.

"Okay, just _stop it._" Emma hisses, her anger not even remotely in check. She hasn't been this angry since August started laying this whole "Savior of the entire Kingdom" crap on her, and now she can't even be upset with him about this newest debacle because he's _gone_. "I can't even _think_ of a word to tell you how screwed up this is, but 'Fate' is nowhere even _near_ that list! This is _crap!_"

"What, you think I wanted this?" Neal's defensive note to his voice just pokes at Emma's ire even more, and she stands up, nervous energy, pain, and rage just bubbling up so much she can't stay still.

"I don't know what you wanted! You wanted to use me so you could get those watches!" Emma had told herself before walking in here that she was going to keep her temper in check. She certainly doesn't care to now. And why not? She's out of Storybrooke, in the middle of a city that makes it statistically impossible to find someone with as little information as Gold had, and yet, _here is the man of the hour._ "I'm not _stupid_, I have had ten damn years to sit here and analyze _everything_ I went through with you. And you know what I noticed?" She shakes her head, disgust obvious in expression and tone. "You were planning to make me take the fall. You figured if I didn't get caught stealing them, I'd take the fall while you ran off with the money. So, really, I shouldn't be surprised that the man who lies like a _rug_ was able to convince you to leave - "

"First of all," Neal snaps back, his spine apparently deciding to join the brewing argument. "You're right, I _didn't_ need August to really make me do anything. So, do us both a favor and unless you're gonna go yell at him for telling me the truth about you, then drop him out of this conversation, because this isn't about you and me. Because, _second_ of all, this is about _my father._" Neal pauses, and for a second, Emma sees that sympathetic puppy dog look that makes her blood boil right now, while at the same time, she knows it could easily sway her to calm down. If she was still 17. "I'm sorry, Emma, but, this wasn't about you. Okay? It just _wasn't._ There's not a ton about my father that I remember that doesn't suck."

That hangs in the air, and Emma finds herself swallowing down nausea. He doesn't deny that he wanted her to take the fall. His silence is as damning as anything else he's said.

She wants to leave, she just wants to get the hell out of this city and never come back. Of all the people to see again, to have to face again, she never wanted it to be Neal. In fact, if she can find some way to drag August out of whatever den of inequity he's apparently vanished to, she's more than willing to do that so she can rail at him about this first over dealing with Neal.

Because, right now? This is painful. This is every stupid childhood mistake leading up to Henry coming back to haunt her, and not only _haunt_ her, but to tell her how _justified_ all of it was.

"My dad," Neal's talking again, but Emma's only barely listening. "He used to tell me that there are no coincidences. Everything that happens, happens by design, and there's nothing we can do about it. Forces greater than us conspire to make it happen. Fate, destiny, whatever you want to call it. The point is… Maybe we met for a reason. Maybe something good came from us being together."

The look on her face must be absolutely priceless. She stares back at him, stunned, disgusted, and everything else in between. Something "good?" Aside from Henry, which, yes, he is more precious to Emma than she can even understand now, but there's no way in hell she's telling Neal that he has a kid. The life she would have had with him, even if for two seconds he actually _had_ settled down... not a life for her son.

"_No_, Neal." She finally and decisively replies, hands at her sides more so that she doesn't reach over and smack him, which she could definitely do right about now. "I went to _jail_. That's _all_ that came out of this. It doesn't matter how, it just _is_." The words start to sound easier, and Emma can feel that wall of hers holding strong. "I'm over it. And you." Just a bit more to cement that wall into place. Emma was 17 years old, and she knows now, and has for a long time, that some people are just _bad_ for each other.

This isn't how this little jaunt was supposed to go with Gold. But Emma can't change that. She can't change that she's forced to face Henry's father, a man who took her youth for granted, hyped her imagination with stories of freedom and adventure. And she certainly can't change that he could have changed and helped her break the damn curse instead of just ditching her in jail.

"People grow up, Neal. I did." Emma spits. "How about you?"

Neal's eyes drop to the counter. "How come you still wear the keychain I got you?"

Her hand goes to the keychain around her neck, a weight she's grown accustomed to for quite some time. Emma knows she has a bit of a... memento attachment. Her blanket, newspaper clippings(which now flash her conversation with August at the lobster house in front of her), the keychain, Graham's badge. August's bracelet.

For someone who tries to keep people so closed off, she does an amazing job of keeping them close. Even when it hurts. Each one is a lesson. A lesson of how they hurt her, and how to never let that happen again.

So, why is she still wearing it? She knows the reason. It didn't matter, because she made the same mistake again and he's gone, he left. And frankly, she's just tired of the whole mess. Of trusting, of them leaving, of them _lying. _She had closed herself off. She needs to go back to that. She needs to forget about how scared she was when she saw August dying in his room, how _instantly_ she'd forgiven him for his sins. Instead, she needs to remember that he lied, that he left her, and that is _all_ he's ever done. But, it hurts, and so she took the bracelet off when the realization that he wasn't coming back hit her.

Same goes for Neal. She's considered taking the necklace off over the years, but, he is not the same kind of hurt as August.

He's here. She can resolve this.

Emma pulls the necklace off and sets it on the counter in front of them both.

"To remind myself to never trust anyone again." She picks up her scarf and finishes her drink, turning to face him. Already, the necklace is a loss she feels around her neck. That wall she keeps up is holding firm, but behind it, the wounds of Neal turning her over have been reopened, raw, tender, and bleeding. "C'mon. I made a deal with your father that I'd bring you to him." There's a strange sense of satisfaction mixed with fear and guilt when she says that. Emma isn't typically vindictive, she doesn't normally play the underhanded game, but she's playing to his sense of guilt, of shame. "It's about time you grew up." She adds as she pushes her chair in.

Neal is staring at her wide-eyed. "You made a deal with him?"

She feels her heart clench a little, but it's good. Necessary. She has to put this to bed. She has to face him and deal with this on _her_ terms. Even if the damage is never going to heal. Emma is very aware that her taste in men is _obscenely bad_, but Neal, even knowing that August gave him an out and he ran from her as fast as he could... "Yeah." She tells him, sort of enjoying the look of dismay on his face. "And I'm upholding my end."

"No, Emma. You don't have to."

"I know that." She takes a step towards the door, expecting him to follow. She doesn't like Gold, she hardly trusts Gold on a good day, but this isn't her problem. RIght now, her bigger problem is trying to process through all of her emotions long enough to figure out what this means in the long run.

"Okay, so this should be really easy for you." The worry and fear in Neal's voice, the instant defensive tactic, gets her attention, even though she's not looking forward to it. "Tell him that you lost me. Tell him you can't find me. You do that, you'll never have to see me again."

The problem Emma has with closing herself off... is that she's very bad at it once someone's already gotten in once.

So, she takes the easy way out at first.

She lies.

It'll protect Henry, she tells herself as she talks to her mother on the phone.

It'll protect Henry, she tells herself as she justifiably sees the manic glint in Gold's eyes as she tells him she "lost his son" and he bullies his way up into the apartment building.

It'll protect Henry, she tells herself as she and Gold are shouting at each other, and she finds herself wondering if this quest is going to end with her having to actually defend herself against a man she's found untrustworthy, but not violent against her. At least, not until he pushes her.

And then it'll protect Henry, she tells herself, as she tries to steer the kid back out of the room when he walks in while Neal and his father - god, that still hasn't sunk in - argue.

And then Emma watches it unravel. Neal knows, Henry knows, and it's just chaos.

It's not until she's sitting there, begging for forgiveness from her son, that a thought hits her right out of left field. All at once, it douses her in icy realization. It trickles down her body until it settles in her stomach. Maybe that's why she walks back in and tells Neal that Henry wants to meet him. She doesn't fight it as hard as she could, and instead, she gives herself some distance.

She takes a seat, not bothering to speak to Gold, because she's too busy recognizing what she's done.

She gets it. August's choices... why it was so painful for him to tell her everything, even if she hated him, and he did it _anyway. _

_This is what it feels like when you don't tell the truth._


	14. The Slow Hand Quickens

**Title: **Son of a Woodworker  
**Chapter Title: **The Slow Hand Quickens  
**Setting: **During 2x14 (ooo, two chapters for one episode)  
**Author's Note: OH MY GOD, WHERE I HAVE BEEN. **I know, it's been forever, and now I'm posting so you're probably like "OMFG, yay! Cassie's got a second chapter for Manhattan, that's awesome!" And then you're gonna read it and then you're gonna be like "... I will pee on everything you love." SO HAVE FUN. *maniacal laugh* **Read, review, tell a friend** if that's your thing, and above all, enjoy the chapter! That being said, oh my god, I can't believe it took me so long to get this out. With any luck, I'll go on another 4 chapter run after this and get this thing close to the conclusion. Also, for your listening pleasure, I highly recommend Too High by Dave Matthews as a Wooden Swan song. Beautiful.

* * *

This is what it's like when you don't tell the truth.

His heart is pounding, his stomach is swimming in a nauseatingly guilty fashion as his wooden legs finally give out somewhere in the woods between the convent and the well, he's not sure where.

He collapses in a heap of kindling, rattling as loudly as his ears are ringing with the Blue Fairy's words.

_You're a coward, August. This is your responsibility, and I cannot help you._

Even though he knows there's no actual blood running through his veins - might be sap, though, he has no desire to test that theory - there's a roaring of sound as shuddering pain wracks through him. He's curling up without thinking, loosely clutching at his own sides. He doesn't know if it's a pain borne completely of the body, or of the mind, but he knows it's unbearable and in this moment, he deserves it. His arm is throbbing, the sensation snaking up to his shoulder, then blossoming down through his entire chest in raw, scorching sensation. Exhaustion threatens to force his eyes closed, dragging him down into unconsciousness.

All the while, all he can see and all he can hear is the Blue Fairy telling him what he's always known about himself.

_You said it yourself: you ruined her life._

Rolling onto his back, he's forced to stare at the gray, threatening sky and take account of his monumental failures. He thought he could do this, that he could reach Emma, apologize for everything and be honest about how he knows Neal and what he's done to her over all these years. Instead, he's given a part of himself to Rumpelstiltskin to be used whenever the Dark One wants. The shudder of genuine terror that rocks through him isn't lessened by the knowledge that Gold is gone, and that Emma is with him.

He wasn't sure before seeing the Fairy, but now? Now he just knows.

She's gone. And even when she comes back, if they've found Neal, he has most certainly lost any chance at reconciliation with her.

_You have everything, and it is your fault that you trusted Gold._

The Blue Fairy is right. August is alive, he should have gone to Emma the _moment_ she was back in Storybrooke. He has his _family_, and he could've made good on his promises to fix the mistakes of his past...

But, there's nothing to be done now. Chances blown, he's done. And really, what does he expect?

_That after countless mistakes you would somehow be forgiven? Do you think she will trust you?_

The guilt that swims around in his gut just confirms what he doesn't want to admit. He knows that's what he's been hoping for. Maybe... just maybe, she can forgive him.

Yeah. As if _that's_ all that likely anymore.

Eventually, panic gives way to solid depression and melancholy, punctuated by a soft, throbbing pain that seems to leech out energy from him as well. He can tell it's centered on the gash in his arm, the marred loss that Rumplestiltskin now holds... somewhere. For a moment, August is reminded that Gold is gone, and it's very likely that after their argument he's taken the shaving with him.

August's face is a muted mask of concern. What happens if part of him leaves Storybrooke without the rest of him? He's pulling himself to a sitting position and trying to work his leather-clad figures under the hem of his black shirt underneath his jacket...

"I suppose the adage is true. If a tree falls in a forest and no one's there to hear it, it doesn't make much of a sound."

August freezes. He knows that voice. It's not a voice he's particularly fond of.

"Regina..." He mutters, forcing his eyes upwards to the former Mayor of Storybrooke, and the evil queen of his childhood. There's a woman beside her, all propriety and a ginger mane of ringlets piled upon her head. August feels like he should know her, but he's not sure why.

"Mister Booth, I have to say, this was not how I expected to see you resurface in town." Regina sounds so casual, but he can hear the cat eating the canary snark that she's barely keeping in check.

"That makes two of us..." August quips, grunting as he pulls himself to his feet. His bravado has kicked in, even though his heart is thudding from somewhere deep in his barrel chest. He's considering possibly trying to escape - if he was still whole, he'd even lie - but he knows there's nowhere for him to go. He's in the middle of the woods, for Pete's sake. "Believe me, Mayor Mills, I'd much rather not be the butt of every wood-based joke you can think of." _All two of them, _he thinks, but he barely manages to keep that one from flying. Magic has been brought to this world, it's working through his veins and his body.

It also means Regina has it, too.

"Curious creature you are." The older woman muses. Her voice slithers and trickles down August's neck, but his determination to stay as stoic as he can in the face of the Evil Queen keeps him neutral. He brushes his gloved hands free of dust, cautious and casual, even if he's very aware that this might be the last five minutes of his life. He's not too sure. "He was far more talkative when he thought I was that unseemly Blue Fairy." That relaxed barb makes August's stomach tighten as he's hit with the realization that what he's heard, the words he's taken to heart... weren't from the Blue Fairy. He's been duped. And he gave away the very secret he's been trying to keep...

Who the hell is she? August quips, hoping to find out. "Call me crazy, but it's not nice to pretend to be other people. Especially when I don't even know your name."

"I suggest you treat my mother with a little more respect, _Pinocchio_." The crisp click of his name on Regina's tongue feels like a slap to the face. That name is still so foreign to him, and he feels like it's already been weaponized against him. "Frankly, I'm not all that interested in how you feel, considering you've been lying since you came into town." Regina saunters forward, a tight smirk gracing lips that are deceptively beautiful, hiding the darkness beneath. Others might have sympathy for her, like Snow, but August has none. He knows her as one of the monsters of his youth, a phantom he dreamt of in the darkness between nightmares of the Dark One. To him, the two are hand in hand.

And this woman's Regina's mother? How evil was _she_?

"I shouldn't be surprised." Regina continues, moving in a slow circle around August. She gives him a wide berth, but it's not like he's in a position to act anyway. With Regina's mother in front of him, and the queen herself circling behind, August finds himself having to choose which one to follow. "Pinocchio, mother, in case you were unaware of the current bedtime story, is a marionette carved from an enchanted tree by the old man, Geppetto - "

"Ah, yes, the woodcarver who built the very wardrobe Snow White's daughter snuck through." She knows about the wardrobe. August can feel his heartbeat speed up a little more. "How quaint, it mimics concern."

"Right, because the pretending I'm not a real boy thing never got old," August grumbles, exasperated and offended. "If you have something to say, I think all of us would be much happier if you just said it."

Regina simply tightens her smile and continues as if she'd never been interrupted. "And this marionette is very naughty. He likes to tell lies, and has no real conscience to speak of. From my understanding, that's pretty close to how it actually happened. Only when Pinocchio was a boy, he saved his father in a storm and as a reward, the Blue Fairy turned him into a 'real boy.'" Perfectly manicured fingers actually mime air quotes. August can feel his molars grinding. "I believe there were a few stipulations to that particular magic, though, and well, the long and short of it is that as long as Pinocchio was a good boy, he'd be real forever." Regina has stopped, leaving him in the unenviable position of having to pivot, trying to keep both women at least in his peripheral vision. "What on earth did you do to suffer this fate, August?"

"Perhaps it was his father's gift of life outside of the curse, Regina. He's an adult, and you told me Pinocchio was a boy when you took the Enchanted Forest. Clearly, _something_ happened." August finds himself debating if he can, in fact, make a run for it. He doesn't trust these two as far as he can throw them, but more than that, they aren't even hiding that there's a sort of sinister edge to Regina's voice, and her mother is clearly not there to plant daisies. "Perhaps the lying runs in the family. Maybe the wardrobe could take more than one." August's heart jumps, thudding faster, and there's a new gleam in the woman's eyes. "I see. Yes, that's exactly what it is, isn't it? Your heart's racing even while it's trapped in that interesting shell. Your father lied and sent you along with Emma, didn't he?"

"Don't talk about my father." He hisses, failing miserably at keeping the tone casual. "This conversation is over. If you'll excuse me, ladies..."

His feet move, one step after another, to walk past them.

Until they won't.

All at once, his joints have locked. The magical propulsion that gives his wooden muscles their ability to contract and extend, the very act of breathing that he knows inherently he doesn't require, all of it suddenly has come to a screeching, terrifying halt. He can't even move his eyes.

Weightlessness and a sudden pressure have overcome him, halting his senses as he tries to ignore the very raw fear that has iced over him in addition to whatever is keeping him still.

"You were right." Regina breathes. "It works."

"Of course I'm right, my dear. I told you, there is so much you can learn, and this is just the beginning." He can't see the other woman, but he knows she's there, even as his body starts to throb with unnatural restraint. It feels like he's turning back to wood again, and once the thought passes through his head, he can't dislodge it.

Regina has noticed, and for a moment, he thinks her face flickers with pity. "He looks like he's in pain."

"Don't be absurd. He's a puppet, he can't feel anything. He is a product of magic, and as such, can be honed and wielded for a purpose." August can feel himself moving. At least his vision is slowly shifting towards the voice, until she's right in front of him, a glowing hand caressing his cheek. "If we sent him onto the other side of that town line you referred to, there would be nothing to keep him alive. He'd just cease to be."

The edges of his vision start to go black.

"So... he's a tool." Regina again.

"Exactly. And like any tool, we will put it away until we need it." There's a flourish of that hand that was once on his cheek, and August's vision is fading as he sees some sort of building manifest from dark smoke beyond the two women.

"And what do we need him for?"

"This young man made a very foolish deal with Rumpelstiltskin, and you said he was close to Emma. Really, the purpose is up to us. He's given us _so _many to choose from, and frankly..." August can feel himself giving in to the black, haunting words echoing. "They will never see him coming when he stabs them in the back."


End file.
